


the 5-step plan to true love

by bubblecube



Series: a series of plans [1]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Getting Together, M/M, Manga Spoilers, Sakusa becomes a relationship therapist, semi-crack ngl
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-06
Updated: 2020-06-26
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:09:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 20,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24039415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bubblecube/pseuds/bubblecube
Summary: Miya Atsumu proudly brandished a piece of paper in Kiyoomi’s face. “I made a plan!”5-step plan to make Shouyou-kun love me:step 1: Make him call me by my first namestep 2: ??step 3: ??step 4: ??step 5: ??“Um.” Kiyoomi said eloquently. He was a bit impressed, actually. He’d never have thought Miya Atsumu would be the one to render him speechless.Completely oblivious to the slow collapse of Kiyoomi’s brain, Miya preened. “Yer proud of me, aren’tcha? I hate plans, but I made one just so Omi-omi would understand!"In which Sakusa Kiyoomi unwittingly becomes Miya Atsumu’s dating coach.
Relationships: Hinata Shouyou/Miya Atsumu, Miya Atsumu & Sakusa Kiyoomi
Series: a series of plans [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1803778
Comments: 55
Kudos: 634





	1. step one

This was the worst. 

“Omi-omi, please help me!”

Sakusa Kiyoomi considered himself a good person. He took out the trash, wasn’t late to meetings, and paid back the money he owed as soon as he could. Around the house, he cleaned, he cooked, and he kept the shared area clean. He was pretty sure those actions alone placed his karma high, high above most of his housemates.

“Omi-kun?”

His continuous good deeds did not explain why his night was being interrupted by a loud knocking, accompanied with a whine that belonged definitely to the one and only Miya Atsumu.

He contemplated just ignoring the knocking, pretending to be asleep, or whatever. He could take it as payback for the series of devastations that he had unleashed on him — of which, there had been many. For one, following Miya’s example, almost their entire team now called him “Omi” with some sort of suffix. 

He opened the door.

His current teammates were incredibly troubling, and every day his patience was tested. Like today, apparently.

In front of his room was Miya, starting setter for the MSBY Black Jackals, and a popular figure for internet fans. He laid on the ground in a mostly human looking puddle.

He looked dead. Kiyoomi prodded him with his slipper clad feet the same way you’d nudge dead cockroaches with a leaf. When he didn’t move, Kiyoomi slammed his door shut.

“OMI-KUN!” 

Kiyoomi re-opened his door. He hoped his expression reflected the irritability he felt. “Can you stop calling me that?”

“Omi-kun,” In classic Miya fashion, he utilised his selective hearing and ignored everything that he didn’t want to hear. “Ya opened the door!”

He looked at Miya’s position on the floor from the vantage point of up there. His chin rested on his hands while the rest of his body maintained contact with the very dirty floor. He strained his neck to look at Kiyoomi. “Wait, lemme get off the ground.”

Kiyoomi sighed. Miya Atsumu was a menace to his sanity. 

_I shouldn’t have opened the door,_ he thought to himself, already feeling drained just by looking at him. 

Half a year ago, he had participated in the tryouts for MSBY Black Jackals. It was an obvious choice; the Black Jackals had a longtime rivalry with the Schweiden Adlers, and Kiyoomi had several reasons for wanting to beat Wakatoshi-kun’s team to the ground. 

He had been officially accepted into the team, and had soon been moved into the house. He had met the rest of his teammates. That was quite a disaster. There had been a lot of screeching and shouting, and despite there being less than a dozen people, it felt like he was stuck in a crowd of a thousand. 

  
  


Today, he regretted all of the decisions leading up to this current moment.

  
  


The menace to society finished picking himself off the ground. “So, I like Shouyou-kun,” he began.

“What a shock.” Kiyoomi muttered to himself under his breath, until he noticed that Miya was slowly edging forwards, inviting himself into Kiyoomi’s room, past the sacred border of the doorframe.

_Oh hell no_.

“Stop.” He hissed, holding the door semi-closed, and Miya paused and looked back at him. Except now he looked like he was a puppy that had been kicked, and contrary to popular belief, Kiyoomi didn’t enjoy abusing animals.

So he opened the door the full way, taking care to edge backwards as Miya entered as to not brush against the definitely dirty clothes that had _just been rubbed on the floor_ . He winced internally at the thought of all the _germs_ that must’ve been lingering.

And then Miya was in his room, walking towards his chair as if he wanted to make himself at home on it.

_No fucking way_. His mind conjured images of cartoon-ish manifestations of bacteria all over his clothes, as he remembered Miya’s entire body sprawled out on the floor, which was only mopped twice a month. His nose crinkled in disgust once more.

“You are not sitting in my chair.” 

Miya whined, but obliged. He stood still in the middle of Kiyoomi’s room, sulking. 

He pulled out a cushion that he never liked that much, and placed it on the bed. “Sit here. If you even touch my bed, I will strangle you and hide your body in a river.” 

Miya completely ignored his death threat, and instead beamed at him. “Thanks Omi-omi, yer the best! I knew ya wouldn’t leave me out there!”. He paused, taking the moment to sit down, look away, and suddenly pivot his head back to stare at Kiyoomi. “Wait, what did ya mean by ‘What a shock’?”

He almost snorted at his words. Miya’s brain did have a latency problem. “I mean, that statement provided no new information.”

“What.” Miya looked like he was confused. Had he forgotten what he had said?

“Were you not being obvious on purpose?” Kiyoomi didn’t let him into his room for the purpose of riling him up, but now that he was getting into the flow of it, it was quite fun. Miya didn’t usually look like he had swallowed a bee — and had been paralysed, frozen into the position. His face was a mixture of shock, horror, and fear. 

It was a shame that he never got into photography. He’d pay a good percentage of his earnings to get a picture taken of Miya’s face right now. Would it be insensitive to whip out his phone and just snap a picture? He’d frame it and send it to every gossip tabloid.

“Does Shouyou-kun know?” Miya had snapped out of his paralysis, and was now pacing around Kiyoomi’s very small room. “If even Omi-omi, the most romantically ‘lliterate—”

“If I’m so romantically illiterate, why are you asking me—”

“—person here noticed, Shouyou-kun must’ve too! He must hate me! Oh no, my life is over. Omi-kun!” Miya, with all five of his working brain cells, stopped pacing to stare at Kiyoomi with all the desperation of a dying man. How he had reached such a conclusion, Kiyoomi was still at a loss.

“Luckily for you, Hinata is almost as clueless as you,” he began, and Miya’s face immediately lit up. Kiyoomi had an undeniable urge to bury his face in his hands. This had actually happened multiple times in the past week. He’d say something that was meant as a dig at Miya, and he’d gobble it up as if it was meant as a compliment. 

“Then I have a chance! Tell me, Omi-omi, what do I do? Actually!” He reached into his pocket, and whipped out a small folded piece of paper. It was noticeably crinkled, and Miya proudly brandished it in Kiyoomi’s face. “I made a plan!”

Kiyoomi felt a headache coming on. He took his flu shot this year, but he wouldn’t put it past Miya to be able to bypass the power of vaccines. His head actually hurt. He didn’t even have to look at the ‘plan’ to know what it likely resembled.

He took a glance anyway, and immediately regretted it.

_Plan to make Shouyou-kun love me_ :

  1. Make him call me by my first name
  2. ??
  3. ??
  4. ??
  5. ??



The rest of the paper was empty.

“Um.” he said eloquently. He was a bit impressed, actually. He’d never have thought Miya Atsumu would be the first to render him speechless.

Completely oblivious to the slow collapse of Kiyoomi’s brain — due to him, too, Miya preened. “Yer proud of me, aren’tcha? I hate plans, but I made one just so Omi-omi would understand! I even looked online for articles about attraction! It's scientific— ‘familiar term of address’, they called it! Make them feel like they’re close to you! Or familiar.”

Kiyoomi failed to see exactly how one scribbled line, coupled with a few empty bullet points was conducive to his understanding. He also had no idea why Miya thought ‘familiarity’ was ‘calling him by his first name', which was something that everyone on the Black Jackals (except for Kiyoomi) already did. 

When he had joined the team, Miya had begged him to call him “Atsumu” too. He had refused; he wasn’t in the business of getting overly close to hyperactive five year olds, teammate or not. 

Maybe the whole “Omi” thing was a carefully orchestrated revenge plot by Miya. If it was a torture plan, it had certainly been working. 

  
  


The urge to put his head in his hands and slam it against the wall was growing.

  
  


“Why is only one bullet point filled in?” he asked. He could’ve asked a variety of questions, each ruder than the previous rendition in his head, but it was late and he didn’t want his headache to worsen.

“I’ll figure out the rest later,” Miya replied dismissively.

He looked at the clock hanging above his door frame. It was 11:10; he needed to get into bed by half past to allow himself time for his morning run. Miya Atsumu had to be removed from his room.

Physical extraction would be difficult. If he were the size of Hinata, maybe he’d just pick him up and throw him out. However, he was barely shorter than Kiyoomi, standing at a proud 187 cm, and physical extraction on someone of a similar height to him would be difficult.

So he had to convince Miya to get out of his room. Miya, who had begun rambling about Hinata, and showed no signs of slowing.

“—call me Atsumu anyway; I have the excuse of having a twin, I guess.” Miya paused his back and forth pacing in Kiyoomi’s tiny room. “But, everytime I think about him calling me ‘Atsumu-san’ I just want to collapse on the floor!”

_That explains his convoluted logic, I suppose_ , he thought to himself. “Can you leave my room.” He asked out loud, aware that his question ended up sounding more like a statement than a request.

Miya ignored him and continued his monologue, which seemed to have drifted from the topic of “Hinata” to “Hinata and Volleyball”, which meant it was twice as passionate — and headache inducing.

“—last practice when he called out for the toss, and he went all “Miya-san!” and then I feel this urge to just, slam my head against the wall.” Oddly, Kiyoomi related heavily to Miya’s urge to injure himself against various surfaces in the building, though their reasons were completely different.

So bluntly telling Miya to just _get out_ wouldn’t work. He had tunnelled onto a topic. 

“Why won’t he call me Atsumu? Doesn’t he realise there are two Miyas? Doesn’t he understand?” Miya was still talking to himself.

“Have you considered talking to him about it?” he asked, deadpan. Miya's current ramblings mostly detailed his own mental problems, which Kiyoomi sees much evidence of. If telling him to get out wouldn’t work, maybe prompting him with blatantly useless and obvious information would _encourage_ him to leave. 

He expected some sort of sarcastic retort, something like “Wow you’re so smart, Omi-kun. Thank you for your input.” With a sour look. He waited for it.

“I didn’t think about that at all! That’s so smart! THANKS OMI-KUN!” And suddenly he was watching the head of bleached hair scamper out of his room with an enthusiasm that wasn’t present when he entered. “See ya tomorrow at practice!”

  
  


That worked? He was once again rendered speechless by Miya Atsumu. How? How was that deemed as advice at all? Surely he knew _talking_ was an effective strategy, since that was all he really did. Talk. Blabber on to everyone who would, or wouldn’t listen. It didn’t seem to matter to him anyway, most days.

  
  


Kiyoomi shut his room door behind Miya’s departing figure, then dutifully wiped down the surface of his bed frame near where Miya had sat, spraying some cleansing solution just in case. He had a terrible feeling about tomorrow. Whatever, he’d worry about it then.

  
  
  
  


They did indeed, like Miya reminded him the night before, have practice the next day.

His sleep had been pleasant. He woke up at 7:30 to the sound of his alarm clock ringing. He went on his morning run, like he had planned. 

Despite his attempt at focusing on the volleyball magazine he had been reading the night before, his mind drifted to his conversation — if you could even call it that — with Miya the night before. The more he thought back on it, the more he was convinced it was a fever dream. But his head wasn’t warm and he didn’t feel any pain in his head (other than the lingering Miya-induced headache), so he supposed it did happen after all.

He did lie to Miya about one thing though — him admitting that he had feelings for Hinata brought forth a singular revelation; the fact that Miya Atsumu was actually aware of his feelings. He was a bit impressed at his ability. 

Truly, Miya had exceeded everyone’s expectations.

  
  
  


When he arrived at their gymnasium after breakfast, most of the team was already there. He kept his head down, and tried to shuffle his way to the changing room, but of course Miya Atsumu, being Miya Atsumu, had to cause him trouble.

“Omi-kun!” The rest of their team turned to stare at Kiyoomi. He glared at them, and they quickly looked away.

“Omi-omi, don’t be so cold~” Miya sauntered over, a sway in his walk. “I— “

“Miya-san! Sakusa-san!” A voice came from the gym doors, which were closed — and then open. A burst of sunlight shone through, and it wasn’t only literal. “Good morning, everyone!” 

Miya startled, his entire body tensing up. Kiyoomi shot him a look of contempt and mocking. Miya couldn’t do much but make a face in response. Even then, his face was still half frozen in that awkward 

“Ehh, Hinata!”

“Bokuto-san!!”

As two of the hyperactive toddlers ran towards each other, shouting progressively louder and louder, Kiyoomi stared down the third toddler.

“Omi-kun, Omi-kun, what do I say?” Miya looked more anxious than he did before a match.

Kiyoomi executed his excellent tactic of _vacating the scene_. He ambled to the changing rooms, and closed the door behind him without a look back.

  
  
  
  


Practice went on much like it did the day before, and the day before that. Their coach set them up to a series of drills — passing to each other, simple spiking practices, other compatibility tests. It was only Hinata’s second official practice with them, after all. Except — this practice, Miya was constantly shooting him pleading looks from across the gym, then swivelling his gaze to their orange haired wing spiker.

Kiyoomi did his very effective move of simply averting his eyes, looking away. He could feel the scowl and glare Miya sent. He thought it was hilarious.

  
  
  


Perhaps God decided to bless the idiots today.

“Shouyou-kun, we’re on the same team!” Miya reached out his palms for a high-ten with Hinata, a grin on his face.

Miya definitely didn’t know what the word ‘subtle’ was. His voice was the very definition of delight, and his expression wasn’t much better. Luckily, Hinata didn’t know what subtlety was either, and jumped up to give Miya the high-ten. Kiyoomi watched all this with slight distaste from the other side of the net.

The game started. The first serve was clean, but nothing he couldn’t get. He passed it to their reserve setter, who coordinated with an attacker for a spike straight down the center of the court — only for it to be cleanly received by the other side too.

“Miya-san! Gimme a toss!” he heard Hinata yell, then the ball was arcing in a perfect parabola, and Hinata smashed it down — into their side of the court. 

Kiyoomi thought back to the play. He had been a bit slow in reacting, but maybe if he had moved up? Their blockers were— 

“Hey, Shouyou-kun,” Miya began, and Kiyoomi almost broke his neck, turning it to look at him. Half of the gym was staring at them, again. They sucked at not attracting attention, “Ya can call me Atsumu, ya know.” Miya looked extremely flushed. Kiyoomi thought the last time he saw him this red was when he had an allergic reaction to the cucumbers in a salad.

“There’s no deeper meaning! It’s just, uh, I’m unused to being called, um, Miya? Ah—” 

“Atsumu-san it is then!” Hinata shot Miya with a beaming smile, and everyone who was looking at them was temporarily blinded. It was a bit like a flashbang. Kiyoomi had a sudden urge to shield his eyes. 

He worried a bit for Hinata; even though he was a hyperactive toddler, no one who passed under Miya’s grip ended up on the other side unscathed or uncorrupted—

“And! You should call Omi-omi ‘Omi’ too! He loves it!” Miya shot him a thumbs up and a grin. Hinata turned to him with a wide smile, a sparkle in his eyes.

“Omi-san?”

He wanted to commit homicide. “No.” he said, but by then it was too late because Hinata was bounding off. He shot Miya a withering glare, but he just brushed it off and grinned. “Ya love me, Omi-omi!”

“Omi-san, nice serve!” Hinata shouted from the other side of the net. He wanted to scowl at the sound of his name getting butchered by yet _another_ member of the team, but somehow he couldn’t get mad when it was Hinata saying it. Not that he was any less pissed at Miya, mind you.

Speaking of which.

Miya was half distracted, half trying to engage Hinata in conversation. Kiyoomi had the perfect idea.

As he readied his arm to swing at the ball mid air, he fixed his gaze on Miya. 

His serve flew true, but Miya unfortunately dodged out of the way just in time. “Omi-omi, ya tryna kill me?” he scowled, and Kiyoomi sent him a smug smirk in response.

Hinata laughed, and because Miya was useless he began laughing too. Kiyoomi felt the corners of his mouth quirk upwards, but he pressed it down, maintaining his reserved expression.

His teammates were indeed incredibly troubling, he thought, as Hinata served and barely missed Miya’s head. The ball hit the net with a loud impact, and Miya startled from it. 

“Yer actually tryna kill me! Yer all tryna kill me!”

He felt his mouth twitch then, and he couldn’t properly contain it.

His teammates may have been troubling, but at least they were entertaining, Kiyoomi supposed.


	2. step two

“Good work everyone!” Their captain, Meian-san, called out. The team answered in a resounding shout, and then they were off.

As Kiyoomi made his way to the changing rooms, he considered the day ahead. It was only just past noon, so he had plenty of time to grab lunch, then do an afternoon run. Maybe he could come back to the gym and practice some serves, and he had a few missed volleyball broadcasts that he could watch. 

“Hey, Shouyou-kun,” Miya demonstrated his inability to keep his voice below 80 decibels. His voice rang out across the gym. His entire team stopped and stared. Kiyoomi joined them. “I uh, ya wanna practice a bit more?” 

_ Eloquent _ , Kiyoomi thought to himself. Truly, Miya was an inspiration to them all. 

“Really? I love spiking your sets, Atsumu-san!” Hinata beamed back at him. Miya’s face, even from across the court, looked like it had been sunburnt. He began spluttering. 

Kiyoomi joined the rest of his team as they began to file into the changing rooms. 

  
  
  
—

Kiyoomi experienced four full hours of peace before his life was, once again, interrupted by the inconsiderate being that was Miya Atsumu.

He was busy rewatching one of the rallies in a previous match against the Addlers. He scowled as he watched Wakatoshi-kun spike another ball to the ground. His form was almost perfect — there had been little to no indication of the direction to which he wanted to spike. He thought about his own spikes— 

His train of thought was interrupted by the sound of  _ someone _ rattling his door.

He sighed. He had a pretty good guess who it was.

“Open the door, Omi-omi!”

Miya’s face greeted him as soon as the door swung open. At least this time he had the decency to be not on the floor. except:

Kiyoomi took one look at his sweat drenched shirt. “You didn’t take a shower after practice.” He said. He glared, just in case Miya didn’t get the message.

He got the message. Miya took a step backwards, fear evident on his face. Sweat dripped down the side of his face, though Kiyoomi wasn’t sure whether or not it was from his  _ extended practice _ with Hinata. “Alright, alright, I’ll go take one. I’ll be back though, so don’t get your hopes up!”

At least he acknowledged the misfortune he brought Kiyoomi, he supposed.

  
  
—

Fifteen minutes later, he was still watching the same game. This time, he focused at Kageyama. The camera angle wasn’t the best, but he watched the way he set to Hoshiumi, physical limitations be damned. He scowled at the glowing laptop screen. 

“Omi-kun!” His door slammed open. It made a loud _ clang _ against the closet. Miya didn’t seem perturbed at all.

Ah, he forgot to lock his door. He redirected his scowl from his laptop to Miya. He didn’t seem affected.

This time, Miya had changed into something more casual. He was in a plain tee, shorts, and his hair was slightly damp. And he also just invited himself into his room. Kiyoomi’s room. 

Apparently the courtesy of knocking and waiting outside only extended to the past two visits. God help his sanity.

At least his clothes were clean now.

“Why are you here again?” he asked, not leaving his seat. At least Miya hadn’t attempted to make himself home on Kiyoomi’s bed — and for now, he’ll take those.

“Just to express my gratitude,” Miya somehow managed to sound like he was smirking even though Kiyoomi wasn’t looking at him. It was quite irritating. Then again, almost all of Miya’s actions were irritating, intentional or not. 

“Didn’t know that ‘gratitude’ was in your vocabulary,” he responded. Miya let out a sound of protest that sounded like a mix of a squawk and a squeak.

“C’mon, Omi-omi, give me a break. He calls me Atsumu-san now, y’know!” 

Kiyoomi did know. The entire team knew. As referenced previously, Miya Atsumu had no volume control. In addition to that, he currently had a lovesick expression on his face, his gaze staring at something beyond the reality of Kiyoomi dreary and dark bedroom. Kiyoomi wanted to throw up, figuratively. Not literally, because that’d be inviting more filth into his room.

It was silent for a moment. If Kiyoomi cared, he’d call it awkward. Fortunately for him, he didn’t really care, so he let them stew in the absence of noise. 

  
  


“So, Omi-omi-omi! Help me! I need more progress!” Miya shouted, all of a sudden, for no reason at all. Kiyoomi’s eardrums narrowly escaped permanent damage, though he did still feel slight tremors when he turned his head.

Once again, Miya demonstrated his overwhelming creative naming abilities by tacking an extra ‘omi’ at the end of his  _ nickname _ for Kiyoomi. As if he didn’t hear it enough. He grimaced.

“What more help do you need. Haven’t you already—” 

“Well, ‘cuz I need more help! My plan has another four steps, ya know! It’s a five step plan!” Miya spoke like a salesman who received commissions based on his sales. Extremely confident, but mostly just bullshitting. “I thought ya’d have paid more attention to my detailed outline of this mission!”

He stared blankly, until he remembered the dreaded piece of paper — which Miya proceeded to whip out of seemingly nowhere. It looked significantly more crumpled.

He let out a long suffering sigh. “Why don’t you bother someone else? Aren’t I — ah yes,  _ romantically illiterate? _ ” 

Miya looked scandalised. “Who would say such a thing about Omi-kun? Of course you aren’t.”

“You said it yesterday.”

“No I didn’t!” As always, Miya blatantly and shamelessly denied any accusations against him, no matter how true they were. Looking at the earnest face though, it was entirely possible that Miya genuinely just forgot. Either way, it didn’t matter much.

“You weren’t that wrong, I suppose. I’ve never dated anyone.” he said. He had no idea why he was admitting it to Miya, but it shouldn’t be much of a surprise anyway.

Miya’s eyes widened. He was surprised. “Really, Omi-kun? I’d have thought the whole  _ mysterious  _ thing would’ve pulled in a lotta girls! And boys!”

Kiyoomi directed a heavier glare towards him, channelling all his desire to push him out of the door and slam the door in his face. 

Miya promptly pivoted the topic. “Ah— well, Omi-omi’s the best! Also, I don’t actually hav’ anyone else to ask. Yer my friend, aren’tcha?”

“Ew.”

“Omi-kun! Ya can’t just say that, be a little less blunt, please!” Miya looked like he was two steps away from throwing a tantrum. “We’re friends, right? Ya even admitted that ya never dated anyone to me! Ya can’t say we ain’t friends!”

Kiyoomi wondered in what universe stating a singular fact about himself constituted friendship.Turns out, Miya had the ability to twist every inconsequential statement into a truth.

“You’re annoying,” Kiyoomi responded, because it was true. He didn’t respond to the actual question, because he wanted to try out Miya’s own method of ignoring everything that you don’t want to hear.

Miya perked up, an unjustifiable grin gracing his face. He supposed Miya was immune to his own tactics. “So we are friends! Ya didn’t deny it! So help me out, Omi-kun!” How he had come to that conclusion, Kiyoomi had no idea. He was learning a lot about his team today.

In another life, at this point, Kiyoomi would’ve strongly denied his assertion of friendship, just to make a point, and then relished in the proceeding chaos. However, the Kiyoomi in this universe wasn’t blunt enough to be that much of an actual dickhead, and there was something about the genuine smile that was widening on Miya’s face.

His old teammates in Itachiyama once told him he had to be more social.  _ Talk with more people _ , they had said,  _ make connections _ ! Komori told him to think of it like a quota.  _ One social interaction per day _ , he had suggested. Kiyoomi mentally replaced ‘social interaction’ with ‘putting up with others’ and ‘day’ with ‘month’. This was his one act of putting up with Miya for the month.

A section of his brain, the useless part that mostly stayed asleep, reminded him he’d put up with Miya already once, and that his quota was filled for this month. He thought about it hard, and decided to call it ‘working overtime’. The useless section of his brain continued to talk. He imagined beating it up with a baseball bat.

It shut up.

Heedless of his internal conflict and dialogue, Miya was trying to pull off the ‘kicked puppy’ look. It didn’t really work, as he was trying too hard to seem like he wasn’t trying hard, which was making him look like he was trying too hard. It made him look like he had shoved too many atomic warheads in his mouth, but he wasn’t allowed to spit it out. 

The sight was quite disgusting. He kind of wanted to call security to escort the disturbance out of his room, just for that.

  
  
  
  


So, He didn’t call security. 

Miya did end up leaving his room though — temporarily (unfortunately). He returned with a wooden stool, held between his hands like an offering to Kiyoomi.

“I’m considerate, aren’t I?” Miya looked inexcusably pleased with himself. “Look! I got my own chair ‘cuz I know ya don’t like it when people sit on ya things!” 

“If you were considerate you’d be leaving me alone,” he muttered under his breath, and Miya either didn’t hear him or pretended not to very convincingly.

Miya placed his stool next to Kiyoomi. He glowered. Miya placed his stool a little further away, then sat down.

“Can I use your laptop, Omi-kun?” Miya asked, already reaching out for it. Kiyoomi hoped his deadpan face worked as a response. 

It worked. Sulking, Miya pulled out his phone. Kiyoomi returned to staring at Kageyama’s jump serve form.

“How—to—make—your—teammate—who’s—also—” Miya had hoisted his feet onto his stool (his own stool, fortunately), his back hunched as he squinted at his phone, “—your—junior—fall—”

“Isn’t that a bit too specific?” he asked out of his sense of goodwill. Another good deed for a month. At this point, he’d stack up enough good deeds by the end of the month to lock himself in a basement for the rest of his life.

“Ah,” Miya, as usual, responded to blatantly obvious statements like they were sacred new discoveries. He began typing anew. “Wait, Omi-omi! Look at this!”

  
  


Miya gasped. “I want Shouyou-kun to never take his eyes off me,” he whispered, probably to himself. He immediately proceeded to shove his phone in Kiyoomi’s face. 

_ loveadvice.com/how-to-make-someone-fall-in-love _

Want to seduce your guy? Here are four steps to make sure he never takes his eyes off of you…

Kiyoomi pinched the bridge of his nose and breathed in, then out. Miya began reading through the website with renewed vigour.

“So, if this website has four steps, and I already have one step, it fits perfectly!” Miya had a look on his face that he’d call a ‘scheming face’ if it were anyone else. When he first met him, Kiyoomi had thought he’d be the cunning and crafty type of guy. He was dreadfully proven wrong. 

“Make them feel appreciated — compliments, gifts — make sure they know they’re important to you! Hey! I can do that!” Miya grabbed a pen off his desk, and began scribbling on his crumpled piece of paper.

_ 5-step plan to make Shouyou-kun love me _ :

  1. Make him call me by my first name
  2. Compliment him and buy him nice things
  3. ??
  4. ??
  5. ??



  
  


“Um—” 

Miya was getting that look in his eyes, the one that he got when he started firing up after a few continuous service aces. Kiyoomi wasn’t sure if this was the right occasion for that.

“I’ll compliment him so much! I’ll buy him so many gifts!” He returned to his phone, clicked a few buttons, and Kiyoomi saw over his shoulder that he was hovering on Hinata’s contact page. “I’m going to call him right now!”

“Wait—”

The ringback tone rang. Kiyoomi stared at him, mouthing ‘no’. Miya ignored him.

“Atsumu-san?” Hinata’s voice called from the phone. “What’s going on?”

“Hey, Shouyou-kun,” this was probably the most confident he’d seen Miya while talking to Hinata. “Ya doing anything tonight?”

“Uh, not particularly,” Hinata answered, sounding slightly confused, his voice muffled on speaker. “Uh—”

“Ya wanna go out? Tonight? For dinner, I mean.” Miya didn’t seem flustered at all, which was a huge surprise. “My treat~”

“Sure, Atsumu-san!”

They continued conversing for a short while, before they finally planned where to meet and said their goodbyes.

Miya hung up, and immediately proceeded to throw his entire body at Kiyoomi. He dodged backwards, scooting his chair backwards, just as Miya landed at the spot he had been occupying previously. He scowled at the human lump that was now lying on his floor.

“What did I do?” Miya wailed in distress, “I— What have I done?”

“I tried to warn you,” he said flatly, because he did.

“So—” Miya looked up at him pitifully, eyes filled with desperation. “That was terrible! What was I thinking?” His voice was pitched an octave higher than usual. It would’ve probably been entertaining— scratch that, it was somewhat entertaining.

“What else is there to do?” Kiyoomi would smirk if he knew how to smirk. Unfortunately, he could never get only one side of his mouth to go up, so he settled for looking at Miya with smug contempt.

Miya made himself home on his chair and wailed some more, his head in his hands. 

  
  


It’s now been around ten minutes. “Omi-kun…” Miya continued to wail.

“Okay, you can stop now,” he said. Miya’s crying was getting annoying now, and he was still staying on the floor. “Um, you’ll do fine?”

He really sucked at comforting people. He reached out an arm and stiffly patted Miya’s shoulder. He’d wash it later, just in case Miya’s shower wasn’t thorough enough. 

He immediately perked up at his touch. “Ya believe in me, Omi-kun? Wait! I’m going out with Shouyou-kun later! Like now!” 

And suddenly Miya was no longer lying on his floor. Instead, he was practically prancing around Kiyoomi’s room. He felt a migraine coming on.

“You should leave,” he suggested in the most gentle tone he could manage. He was aware his voice came out quite constipated. Miya agreed surprisingly, and walked to his closed door. There, he got stuck.

“Damn, Omi-kun, your door’s weird.” He commented, fiddling with the doorknob.

Kiyoomi stayed silent, merely staring at him.

He struggled with the doorknob for at least thirty seconds, before he finally figured it out (turn left, not right). “Bye, Omi-kun! Thanks! You’re the best!”

He closed his door behind his departing figure.

  
  
  
—  
  
  
  


Kiyoomi was in the middle of drying his hair after his bath when his phone screen lit up with a notification. He clicked on it, and was immediately led to the messaging app. 

_ That’s strange _ , he thought as it loaded. He didn’t get messages very often.

**_17:52_ **

_ unknown number _

_ omiomi!!!! that!! little bastard!! just!!  _

He blinked at his phone, perturbed. None of his teammates  _ should _ have his number. Least of all Miya. He had given it to the coach, with the express condition of not giving it to any of his teammates, and  _ this _ was the reason why.

**_17:52_ **

_ unknown number _

_ this is ‘tsumu btw~ in case ya don’t rmbr me, omi-omi-omi~ _

As if he needed the clarification. 

**_17:53_ **

unknown number

_ omi-omi! I can see you read my message. _

**_17:53_ **

unknown number

_ like i’m suffering?? you know how our plan said to like compliment him? _

**_17:54_ **

unknown number

_ like?? he juST STARTED COMPLIMENTING MY TOSSES AND AHH IM SO HAPPY RN _

He pictured Miya’s half dead expression, vapour escaping his mouth in a trail of black. It was an amusing sight to imagine.

**_17:54_ **

unknown number

_ if you’re wondering how i got your number, shoukun gave it!  _

That explained approximately nothing, because he definitely didn’t give his number to Hinata either. The messages continued popping up on his phone, lighting up his screen each time he did it. 

**_17:54_ **

unknown number

_ that’s my nickname for him!! it’s cute, isn’t it~~ _

**_17:54_ **

unknown number

_ but please, omi-omi, help me out!! idk wt 2 do _

**_17:54_ **

unknown number

_ omi-omi? _

  
  


He turned off the screen, and placed his phone face down on his table. Miya suffering was quite entertaining.

  
  
  
—  
  
  


Kiyoomi had another five hours of peace before he was disrupted again, this time by another knock on the door.

He looked at his clock. It was 11:45. Miya should know by now it’s beyond business hours.

Another knock.

“I’ll strangle you, Miya.”

A squeak sounded from outside his door. “I’m sorry, Omi-san!”

“Wait.”

_ San? _

Kiyoomi crawled out of his bed and opened the door. 

“What are you doing here?” 

Hinata stood in front of his door, earnest eyes looking up at him. “Omi-san, please help me!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope you're enjoying so far! i'll be trying for weekly updates
> 
> I suck at replying to comments because I don't know what to say, but I read every single one and it makes my heart feel things. thank you to everyone!


	3. step three

“Sorry to bother you, Omi-san.” 

“It— It’s fine,” his right eye twitched. It was not fine. It was almost twelve, and it was night.

“We could go to my room, if you want,” Hinata began, sincere, “I don’t want to mess up your room!”

Kiyoomi was floored. In a sentence and a half, Hinata had already firmly secured his place above Miya in the  _ consideration _ aspect. 

To be fair, that wasn’t really an accomplishment. 

Unfortunately for Hinata and (and his charitable offer), Kiyoomi remembered the last time he caught a glimpse of the interior of Hinata’s room. 

To be fair, Hinata had only moved in for two days, which somewhat excused the large amount of cardboard boxes on the floor. It didn’t excuse, however, the numerous items of clothing on the bed and floor, the haphazard stacks of volleyball magazines that looked close to tipping, nor the volleyball that sat next to his pillow. A volleyball that likely hadn’t been cleaned, after Hinata had dropped it numerous times when passing against the wall.

Meanwhile, his own room was tidy, regularly vacuumed, and required no moving. Between the two, it would be an easy choice.

Of course, he always had the option of politely (as he can) excusing himself, and going to bed. This was the most rational option. He’d have slammed the door without hesitation had Miya been knocking at this time of night, that was for sure.

Except this was Hinata, and he was still looking up at him, his hands clasped in front of him, fiddling as if he were slightly nervous. He gazed up at Kiyoomi with such sincerity, and Kiyoomi desperately wanted to back away. Looking at Hinata felt like having a torch shone in his eyes, as if Hinata could see through him right into the depths of his mind.

He turned his head; if he looked away, maybe— 

“Omi-san?”

His resolve crumbled fairly quickly.

“There, uh, take a seat.” he stepped back from his door, holding it open for his unexpected guest. He gestured shakily at the stool that Miya left in the corner of his room. “What did you want to talk about?”

Hinata beamed. Kiyoomi winced internally. He wasn’t equipped to deal with this. 

“We've never talked much, have we, Omi-san?” 

Hinata was right, of course. They hadn’t talked much. Kiyoomi mostly didn’t talk with his teammates at all, if he could help it. 

He had a feeling that if he had spoken with Hinata earlier, it’d have been like letting in an invasive species to his metaphorical garden. 

They had studied a common plant in school — the Japanese Knotweed. It was one of the worst invasive species in the world. It grew so fast that it had the potential to damage concrete buildings, water pipes, and completely overrun ecosystems. 

Looking at Hinata, who was making himself look at home on the wooden stool situated in the corner of his room, he wondered if he had unwittingly allowed a plot of it into his room.

“But we really should! Talk more, I mean — Omi-san’s spikes are so cool, and Atsumu-san really seems to like tossing to you—” Hinata continued, oblivious to the fact that his existence was being compared with a plant with the ability to colonise entire ecosystems, “I mean, I understand why! Your wrists are super cool, and the trajectory of your spikes…” 

Kiyoomi didn’t consider himself a man easily manipulated. Flattery, in particular, was never something that won him over — it was often falsified, forced, and mostly ingenuine. People did it as a means to an end, to serve their own purposes.

Yet Hinata’s praise was… intense, to say the least. Perhaps it was the obvious genuinity that he spoke with, but Kiyoomi found himself a little, just a little flustered from the flattery heaped upon him.

He pondered the truth of love, and the sanctity of relationships. Did Miya’s affection for Hinata stem purely from his enjoyment of his positive affirmation? It would make sense, given the size of Miya’s ego. 

He wouldn’t blame Miya if it was true.

“Well, I— I really need help right now.” Hinata looked slightly abashed. “With Atsumu-san.”

Huh.

He wasn’t surprised, per se, but that was an interesting development.

Hinata didn’t seem disturbed by his lack of speech, electing to continue. “Well, Atsumu-san and you — you’re close, right?”

“Not really,” he muttered in response. Hinata either didn’t hear him, or just chose not to acknowledge his words.

“But— Atsumu-san talks about you a lot, Omi-san! He says stuff like—” Hinata lifted up the side of his bright orange hair, scrunching up his face in what he supposed was an imitation of Miya’s pout. “Omi-kun’s so cruel to me, he kept threatening to slam the door in my face” and “Omi-omi threatened to kill me!”

The imitation was terribly off, his hair was mussed and lay in a heap atop his head, and he had managed to utterly butcher Miya’s accent. Kiyoomi almost laughed, but coughed to cover it.

He supposed, though, by his own standards, Hinata wasn’t that wrong; Miya was getting kind of close. No one else, in his six months on the team, had entered his room before, and Miya already made his presence known twice. He even had his phone number, which reminded him— 

“Why do you have my phone number, Hinata-kun?”

“Hm? Ushiwaka-san gave it to me!” Hinata answered, brazen and unashamed, “I gave it to Miya-san yesterday!”

Well. That explained a lot, though it made no sense why Hinata was in contact with Wakatoshi-kun either. He chalked it up to the Hinata charm, which probably wasn’t far off.

“Atsumu-san’s really nice to you behind your back, you know,” Hinata added, candid and natural, fully displaying his  _ Hinata charm _ . “He said you gave good advice, Omi-san!”

“What.” 

Advice?

Did this mean Miya had submitted a positive review for his  _ advice _ ? What has he even done for Miya, other than allow him into his room and pretend to listen to him ramble on about Hinata?

Was he supposed to be flattered?

“Maybe it’s a wing spiker thing,” Hinata scrunched up his face, interrupting Kiyoomi’s chain of deep thought. “Is it? Omi-san? Do you just want Atsumu-san to continuously toss to you? For like, forever?”

“ _ Ew, _ ” he almost verbalized, mostly out of instinct, except it was Hinata he was talking to, so he clamped his mouth shut, swallowed his disgusted remark, and thought harder.

Hinata’s gaze, previously fixated on the dreadful decor of his room, was now directed at him.

Lesser men would have fallen to the ground and cried. Kiyoomi was almost lesser men.

Maybe he’d try to be nicer to people. He might even greet Miya in the hallways, next time he saw him. Maybe he’d take up meditation? Their volleyball coach went through a phase of guided meditation, back when there had been a craze about ‘mindfulness’ for athletes. Kiyoomi had hated it at the time, but he felt a bit inspired now.

“Um, I don’t think it’s a wing spiker thing,” he managed to force out with relatively small traces of disgust. “Because, I, uh, do not have such tendencies towards Miya. Yeah.” 

He congratulated himself for his efforts. He deserved a pat on the back.

“But I feel like that! I want him to toss to me, and I also really like spending time with him! He’s so fun, and funny and I just—” Hinata paused to take a breath, “I want to just be with him! More!”

The room went silent at the end of Hinata’s sentence, and Kiyoomi was suddenly aware that he was supposed to talk now. How did you give advice again?

“Well, Miya’s really—” annoying, irritating, persistently irritating and annoying “—Miya.” Insulting Miya inside his head was truly a fun pastime.

Hinata was still waiting. He was now facing slightly away from Kiyoomi. Was he looking back at the undecorated wall? For some reason, he felt unreasonably ashamed of his plain room. He’d consider changing it in the future.

“So, uh, he’s all yours? You can— do anything, you know?” he wasn't sure if that was the right thing to say.

“Wait! I’ve got it!” Hinata perked up even more, straightening in his seat with excitement on his face, “Thanks, Omi-san! You’re the best!”

Kiyoomi wondered once again exactly how he helped. But then again, Hinata was beaming, and he had no right to refuse such a gift. He tried to smile, and it turned out a bit like a grimace. 

Hinata, unlike Miya, didn’t struggle with the doorknob on his way out, and bounded out of his room with a backwards wave and a bid farewell.

Previously, he had pitied Hinata for having to deal with Miya. Now, he wasn’t quite sure who he pitied more. 

It was probably still Hinata. No one could be as obnoxious as Miya.

He shut the door behind him, and glanced at the clock. It was now past midnight, and the stool in the corner of his room was even more of an eyesore than before. For some reason though, he didn’t feel irritated at all. Damn Hinata and his energy.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


After his encounter with Hinata at midnight, he had two full days of peace, with which he spent recharging from his previous interactions with his teammates. As they were in their off season, their practices were infrequent. 

Miya texted him every now and then, but he just left him on read. It was easy enough.

This gave him enough time to search for articles to be a better person, and for meditation techniques. He was considering a yoga course online. It was an unavoidable after-effect of talking with Hinata. 

After those two days of peace, he got cornered in the kitchen while making Extra Spicy roasted chicken noodles.

“Oooh! Omi-kun, are those the spicy Korean noodles? Let me have some!” He looked over his shoulder with a scowl. Miya had bounded up behind him, leaving him trapped in the corner between the sink beside him, the fridge behind him, and the saucepan full of boiling hot water in front of him.

“They’re really spicy,” he warned, courtesy of his two continuous days of  _ mindfulness _ . He read a lot of tips about improving himself, and preventing Miya from getting depleted taste buds was apparently part of that journey. 

He gave himself a pat on the back, metaphorically.

“I can handle spice,” Miya had the audacity to wink at him, with a thumbs up. He gave up on his meditative techniques and added an extra pack of noodles to his water.

The two of them made idle conversation, which was more of Miya talking at him rather than with him, though he didn’t mind that much. Three minutes later, he turned off the fire, scooped the noodles into two separate bowls, and added the spicy soup base and water.

“You sure?” he asked for confirmation, even as he offered the bowl to Miya.

“C’mon Omi-omi!” Miya spoke at him with an air of confidence and smugness, “I told ya, I can do spice!”

  
  
  


Miya couldn’t handle spice.

“Omi-kun, it’s soooOOO hot! I—” Miya cut himself off, fanning his mouth with his hands. 

He calmly stayed seated as Miya struggled with rummaging through the fridge for their container of milk. The bowl of noodles that Kiyoomi had offered him sat, almost entirely full, on the kitchen counter. He doubted he’d ever finish them.

Shame. He liked this brand.

He got to work on his noodles while Miya ran circles around him. Having located the carton of milk, he was now looking for a bowl. Eventually, he settled for dumping his noodles in the trash and filling the bowl with milk.

“I can’t believe ya tried to poison me, Omi-kun,” Miya grumbled, sipping at his bowl of milk like a disgruntled cat. He paired it with an accusatory glare. The effect was lessened by the milk that remained at the corners of his mouth, and the contrast of that against his entirely red face and lips. “I can’t believe ya!”

“Not my fault you can’t handle spice,” Kiyoomi replied, unconcerned. His noodles were good. “What did you want?”

“Oh yeah! Omi-kun, I’m ready for the next step—” Miya paused, looking around as if looking for eavesdroppers, “—it’s urgent.”

“Why is it urgent?”

At that, Miya let out an pained sound. “He’s texting Kageyama! I can’t do this—” At Kiyoomi’s confused head tilt, he added “—like he’s been talking about  _ Kageyama-kun _ this,  _ Kageyama-kun _ that, and I can’t stand ‘t! I even showed him the super lame commercial Tobio-kun filmed, but he still was—”

“Why are you worried?” Kiyoomi interjected. “Is he a threat?” 

Miya scowled. “No way Tobio-kun doesn’t want a piece of Shouyou-kun. Everyone loves Shouyou-kun.”

The statement sounded utterly ridiculous, yet he found himself inclined to agree.

“Anyway! Give me ideas, Omi-kun!”

He realised, mid bite, his mouth stuffed with instant ramen, that he was actually getting invested in this nightmarish love affair. 

Shit. 

Fortunately for him, he, too, had the ability to completely ignore things he didn’t like. He pushed the offending thought to the back of his mind.

He also realised he really sucked at giving advice, which was an unfortunate thing to realise right in the middle of an impromptu advice session.

Luckily for him, Miya was already pulling out his phone.

“So, I went on the website,” he began, “And look! Step 3!”

Kiyoomi looked.

“Physical intimacy?”

“Brushing shoulders, brushing hands,” he narrated the website out loud, “They all build more physical chemistry between two people.”

Relationships were weird. Touching people was weird. He winced at the thought of it.

“I know how to fucking touch ‘im,” Miya almost growled out, his eyes suddenly dark. Kiyoomi suddenly felt very scared for Hinata.

“Um—” was the only sound he managed to make before Miya turned even redder than before, more red than his spice induced flush. He looked like he had been sunburnt, and he wore a horrified expression on his face.

“Not like that! Geez, Omi-kun, get your head out of the gutter!! I—” He took a gulp of his bowl of milk, “—I’m innocent! And, and, and—” 

“Where the fuck was your head?” 

Miya spluttered.

Rather than deal with a flustered Miya, he turned to his noodles once more. There wasn't much left, but if he drank the soup, he’d be able to get the last of it.

“How the hell do ya do that?” Miya was trying incredibly hard to not seem like he was personally offended by his consumption of the soup. “Do you not have tastebuds or something?”

“No, it’s just good,” he said as he finished off the last of the soup. “It’s not even that spicy.” Miya let out a gasp of horror.

“Wait no! I’ve got this,” Miya declared suddenly confident. “Physical contact? I got this! I already do it anyway!”

“Setting him the ball doesn’t count, you know.” 

Komori once told him being a snide asshole wasn’t conducive to success. Watching Miya collapse in defeat on the kitchen counter definitely ran contrary to that message.

  
  
  
  


  
  
  


He returned to his room after his brief stint in the kitchen. Miya left to sulk, so he pathed back to his room, expecting to be unbothered for a while.

“Omi-kun!” 

“Geh!”

It was Bokuto who was the primary disturbance this time. He was hovering around Kiyoomi’s door, clearly waiting for him. When he saw Kiyoomi, he visibly brightened.

He greeted him with a wave, bouncing on the balls of his feet. Kiyoomi was getting tired just looking at him.

“Omi-san, aren’t you happy to see me?” Bokuto was beaming at him. It was terrible, in the most luminous way.

“What, do you want love advice too?” he asked, half mockingly. The spicy noodles from earlier sat comfortably in his stomach.

Bokuto took it literally, pausing for a moment, confused, then continued beaming. “Eh? Oh yeah, you’re a love guru! Miya told m—” 

“I—” Kiyoomi felt an impending headache. “Stop there. Nevermind. What is it?”

“Ah.” Bokuto looked disappointed at the reminder that he had a tangible goal. “We’re going to an Izakaya today, the whole team! Do you wanna come?”

_ Not really _ , he wanted to say, but Bokuto actually knew how to do puppy eyes, and he actively used his ability. He stared at Kiyoomi, all dewy eyes and pouty lips. It was incredibly hard to say no.

He had to try anyway.

“I need to—” Bokuto visibly drooped. 

He sighed.

“How long will we be?” he asked, knowing full well it was a pointless question.

Bokuto perked up. “Just a quick meal! The whole team’s coming! You’re coming, right, Omi-omi?”

“Um—” Kiyoomi knew he only really had one option anyway. “—just. Stop. Yeah. I’ll be there. When?” 

“Now! Meet us downstairs in five minutes.” Bokuto skipped away from him with a spring in his step, “Don’t be late!”

In his room, he grabbed his bag, and packed a hand sanitizer bottle and a small pack of tissues. He was still full from his cup noodles, but he supposed it was okay.

He was shoving his wallet in his bag when a commotion sounded from outside his room.

“Ya ready yet, Omi-kun?” Miya’s voice rang from outside his door, followed by the hiss of Hinata whispering something aggressively, and Bokuto’s wail as a crash reverberated through the hallway.

Oh god, there were three idiots outside his door. 

“Call for me one more time and I won’t show up.” He vocalized. The voices outside his door went silent for a moment, then the whispering started anew. 

He stuffed his bag hurriedly, zipped it up, and walked to his door with a sigh. “I'm ready,” he growled, pulling the door open. Bokuto fell at his feet, apparently having decided to lean on his door. He let out a squeal as he clambered away from Kiyoomi’s legs.

He felt a sense of satisfaction at the way they all subdued as soon as they saw the dirty look on his face.

Except they all un-subdued after a few moments, and he was once again surrounded by a symphony of noise, screeching and general chaos. 

Miya was utilizing the narrow corridor as an excuse to constantly brush his arm against Hinata’s, and he grinned back at Kiyoomi everytime he successfully made contact. 

He let out a long suffering sigh. This night was already a bit of a disaster, and it had barely begun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise I'll add actual proper atsuhina interactions soon,,, 
> 
> thanks for all the comments, and i love reading them! hope you all enjoyed this chapter, as always!


	4. step four

“Leave the cat alone.” 

Hinata pouted. “But it looks so lonely!” he gestured to the tabby nuzzled to his side. Miya loured at it. 

“What time did you say the reservation was?” he asked.

“Five-thirty!” Bokuto chirped, reaching a hand down to pet the cat. It flinched away, and burrowed itself further into Hinata’s jacket. Hinata gave it a soothing pat. Miya continued glaring daggers at it.

“It’s five thirty-five right now,” he informed them.

“Shit!” Hinata bounded up, startling the cat, which darted into a back alley. “The captain told us if we were late, he’d make us run laps!”

Kiyoomi wanted to point out that Meian was most likely just joking, but Bokuto had already started sprinting, and Miya was sending him a look that somewhat resembled admiration. 

“Wait up, Bokuto-san!” Hinata called up, running after him. Miya’s somewhat-admiration look drooped, and he began chasing after them. Kiyoomi didn’t bother running.

He caught up with them at a set of traffic lights, the other three panting for breath while he strolled along at a leisurely pace. 

They arrived at the restaurant ten minutes past their reservation, and the meal was just beginning. They entered the izakaya to find the rest of their team already seated.

“Meian-san!” Hinata beamed, enthusiastic, before his face suddenly turned to one of fear. “You’re not gonna make us run laps, right?” He took a step back, which pressed him directly against Miya. He let out a squeak. Hinata didn’t notice.

“Maybe I will,” Meian semi-threatened with a teasing grin. “Kidding! Come on, sit down. We got a round of drinks for your guys prepared already!”

“Meian-san!” Hinata bounded to the empty space next to their captain, and plopped himself down on the seat. 

“Hinata, don’t mind if I sit next to— OW! Tsumu-Tsumu!!” Kiyoomi didn’t bother turning his attention to the commotion beside him, electing instead to make his way to the seat next to Inuaki, opposite to Hinata’s seat. 

“Long day?” He asked, a knowing look on his face.

“Understatement,” he responded.

Eventually, they got settled. 

“Glad we could come to the same conclusion, Bokkun,” Miya said, a pleasantly fake smile on his face.

Bokuto rubbed his shoulder with a disgruntled expression. “You’re no fun, Tsumu-Tsumu.”

The server who had led them to their table returned, this time with an offering of hot towels for the latecomers. Kiyoomi dutifully wiped his hands with it, as Meian ordered them a fresh round of drinks.

“Let me help ya, Shouyou-kun,” Miya said in a nasally and congested voice. Kiyoomi suspected he was trying to sound seductive. What was there to help with?

He didn’t want to look. He was sure the sight would be disturbing to look at.

“Atsumu-san—”

His curiosity got the better of him. He looked and immediately regretted it.

Across the table, Miya was fiddling with Hinata’s towel, wrapping it around the shorter boy’s hands. Was he trying to flirt? He distinctly remembered such a scene playing out similarly the last time he visited one of his nephews at daycare, except instead of Miya trying to make any sort of bodily contact with Hinata, it was a parent trying to clean up the juice spills on his child’s hands.

He turned his head, trying to ignore the peripheral of his vision, where he could still make out the shape of Hinata and Miya struggling over the towel.

The rest of his team didn’t react visibly to the situation happening on the other end of the table, but he caught Inuaki’s gaze flickering to, and from Miya’s face multiple times. Barnes coughed from the other side of the table, and Meian slapped his back comfortingly.

Most people would say learning anything from Miya was a sign that your life was in shambles. Kiyoomi agreed, but he definitely found the technique of completely ignoring anything that he didn’t like to be an enjoyable prospect in life. He stared at the menu in front of him, and prayed to whatever deity he could that when he looked up, the two sitting opposite him would be done.

“Let’s order food!” Bokuto said, except it was Bokuto so it was more of a shout. His left ear stung from the sound. He thought he saw someone turn their head from two tables away. “Like the whole menu, maybe!”

.

“You what?” It took him a few moments to process what Bokuto had said. Unfortunately for him, Bokuto’s lack of volume control had the (in)convenient ability of attracting servers. A waiter had hurried over, concern evident on his face. “Hi, is there anything I can do for you?”

He non-discreetly pressed his hands to his ears.

“We want the whole menu!” Bokuto announced. His chest was puffed as if he was proud of himself. Then, he began listing out every single item on said menu. Kiyoomi wanted to hide under the table.

“I want yakitori!” Hinata exclaimed, seeming to not have realised that  _ the whole menu _ included all fifteen types of yakitori that the restaurant provided. “Like, the beef one!”

“Yeah! That’s a great idea!” Miya agreed, enthusiastic, either because he was whipped or stupid. It’d have been a compliment to assume anything but that he was both.

Bokuto paused, as if to think, then beamed. “Yeah! That too!” 

The waiter stood there and blinked twice, bewildered. “Um. Okay.”

The rest of their team sat back, chuckling as the server departed. Kiyoomi took a moment to recover from the intense second-hand embarrassment he had been subjected to. Miya took it as a cue to resume flirting.

Miya really sucked at flirting.

At least, Kiyoomi was pretty sure  _ “Can you pass me the beer, Atsumu-san?” _ didn’t warrant a giggle, a pat on the shoulder, and a lingering hand as he passed the beer to him. Luckily for Miya, Hinata seemed completely oblivious to it.

“Hey, you’ve got some foam at your lips,” Miya said in what was probably the cringiest tone of voice Kiyoomi has ever heard. 

“Oh, really?” Hinata looked completely clueless as to the crappy tv-drama esque scene he had allowed himself to be sucked into. “Where?” 

Kiyoomi held back a sigh, taking a sip of his own beer. He scrunched up his face; the liquid was just as bitter as he remembered. He pushed it away, settling for the glass of water beside it.

“Just there,” Miya raised a trembling hand and pressed it to the edge of Hinata’s lips. “Ah, it’s gone now.”

With a quick glance, it was clear to see the entire team had turned their attention away from their previous conversation — something productive about volleyball — to the shitshow that was happening in front of them.

“Thanks, Atsumu-san!” Miya collapsed and slammed his head on the table. Hinata looked down at him with a bemused expression. “You alright, Atsumu-san?”

Miya gave a shaky thumbs up, his face still planted onto the wooden surface of the tabletop.

As the meal progressed, their table slowly filled up with the plethora of dishes Bokuto had decided to order. Meian also ordered a second, then a third round of drinks, which Kiyoomi politely excused himself from.

“Ooh, gimme!” Miya grabbed his two pints of beer from across the table, and poured it into the back of his throat. 

“Tsumu-Tsumu, aren’t you drinkin’ a bit too much?” Bokuto asked, the voice of reason for once. 

“Shuddup, Bokkun,” Miya half-shouted, slurring his words. “Yer drinking a lot too.”

As Miya sobriety decreased, his shame completely dissipated. Whereas sober-Miya would do embarrassing things and immediately show his regret by slamming his head against the nearest surface, tipsy-Miya forgot about the concept of  _ embarrassment _ as a whole.

“My hand are cold, Shouuuu-kun~” he dragged out Hinata’s name, before flat out pressing his hands to the back of Hinata’s neck. “Feel how cold they are, Shouuu-kun!”

Normal Miya would’ve followed that up by running to the corner, and heaving heavily every few seconds. Miya after a few pints of beer evidently thought it was entirely socially acceptable to stick your hands down the back of someone’s neck.

“They aren’t cold, Atsumu-san!” Hinata responded, and even though he was completely flushed, he still sounded more coherent than Miya. “You know what’s not cold? Rice.” 

Ah, nevermind.

Miya nodded fervently in agreement. “Rice isn’t cold.”

Kiyoomi almost snorted.

“I want rice,” Hinata whined, tugging at Miya’s sleeve with both hands, heedless of the hands still pressed against his nape. It made for an interesting image. “I love rice.”

“Me too, I love rice,” Miya echoed, completely compliant, and too focused on the smaller boy hanging off of his shirt to really protest. “I think rice is a great idea.”

“This is an izakaya, they don’t serve rice,” Kiyoomi muttered, “Just drink sake like a normal person.”

Neither of them paid him much attention.

“Here, let me feed ya,” Miya flailed, releasing his hands from his neck and reaching for a skewered piece of meat. “Open your mouth, like this! Ah—” 

Hinata opened his mouth, and Miya aimed the skewer in the general direction of Hinata’s face. Despite his expertise (which Kiyoomi seldom enjoyed acknowledging) in setting, his spatial awareness evidently had room for improvement.

Hinata cried out in pain, the chair screeching backwards. Miya dropped the skewer and began flailing his arms in panic.

“Shou-kun— Shou-kun, ya alright?” Miya stood up abruptly, slamming both hands on the table. Their plates rattled, and Barnes’ pint of beer almost tipped over. “I— I’m so so—” 

Hinata tried for a reassuring smile. “Everything’s okay, Ah— Atsumu- _ shan _ ! I’m—” he was hard slurring his words. A trickle of blood leaked out of his nose.

A waiter was heading their way with a concerned expression once more, and Kiyoomi silently resigned himself to the likely event of them getting kicked out. Miya had begun working himself into hysterics once more, this time desperately shoving handfuls of tissue at Hinata.

The server, fortunately(?) for them, saw the situation, stopped in his tracks, and turned around. He emphasized heavily with him. If it were customary to leave a tip in Japanese culture, he’d have to empty his wallet.

“Calm down, Miya,” Meian only interjected after the tenth time Miya offered to  _ dogeza _ as an apology, and even then he was unable to keep the obvious amusement from his face. “Hinata will be fine.”

Miya wailed once more, but complied, which Kiyoomi was incredibly thankful for, since  _ both _ of their adjacent tables were constantly looking over.

After the meat-skewer incident, the meal continued in relative peace. Every now and then, Kiyoomi would look across the table and immediately want to throw up from Miya and Hinata’s increasing proximity.

They were practically sitting on top of each other now, and Miya had managed to take on the job of feeding Hinata small bites of yakitori — taken off the stick first, as taught by the previous  _ occurrence _ .

“Atsumu-shan,” Hinata would wail every now and then, and Miya would respond with some combination of wards accompanied by a lovesick expression, and Kiyoomi would have to look away to preserve his appetite — which he definitely needed, if the food leftover on the table was of any significance.

“We should probably just take this back as takeout,” Meian suggested to him. “No way we’re finishing it.”

He unfortunately had to agree. Their seniors had finally decided to put him out of his misery; they had taken on the job of talking to the waiters, and they had brought over a large number of takeout boxes and bags.

As he packed up the leftover food, Meian paid for the meal — “My treat, don’t worry about it,” — and soon, they were ready to leave.

“We’ll stay out a bit,” their seniors had evidently not taken pity on him, because he was left alone as the sole babysitter of three energetic children. “Get back safe!”

He made his way out of the restaurant, and immediately had to turn back to catch a stumbling Hinata.

“Here,” he offered his hand just as he was about to trip over the singular step at the entrance of the restaurant.

“Than— anks, Omi-san,” Hinata giggled, clutching onto his hand. “I— I,”

“I got this,” Miya emerged from the entrance, obviously trying for a threatening demeanor, except he barely avoided tripping down the step himself. Clutching onto his back was Bokuto, who—

“I’m not drunk!” Bokuto protested before he even had a chance to speak. Impressively, he straightened up, wiped the drunken smile from his face, and gave Kiyoomi a thumbs up. “I just wanted to act drunk cuz it seemed fun!”

Kiyoomi blinked twice, then decided he was too tired to think about it.

“C’mon, is it not?” Bokuto proceeded to throw his entire body weight in the general direction of Miya. “Tsumu-Tsumu~ I’m drunk!”

“You got this, right?” He mocked, as Hinata latched himself onto Miya too, grabbing onto his other arm.

“Atsu— Atsumu-san, I— I”

“Wait no,” Miya turned a pleading gaze to him. It was hilarious. He hadn’t seen Miya this distraught for a while. “Please, Omi-Omi—

Kiyoomi was a good citizen, and Miya did look like he was in pain, so he reluctantly took bokuto by the arm and guided him away from Miya. 

Luckily, drunk-Hinata didn’t have the same ability to attract stray cats, so they made it back to the house in a mostly undamaged state. Bokuto, seeming completely sober, made his way to his own room. He and Miya placed Hinata on the couch, then covered him with a thin blanket. 

From there, he stashed the boxes of takeout left — probably enough for another entire meal for the whole house — in the fridge, and called it a night.

When he was finally alone, he realised how incredibly tired he was. Even though he’s read that it’s not the best to shower or bathe after drinking, he didn’t care; he just wanted to unwind.

He grabbed his pajamas, and briskly made his way to their shared bathroom.

Inside the spacious bathroom, a showerhead dousing his hair in water, he reflected upon its utility. Although he didn’t particularly enjoy sharing a bathroom with his rowdy, and often unhygienic teammates, it did have benefits. For instance, the incredible amount of space there was when he was left alone.

It didn’t happen much, of course, for it was a shared, eight person house. But for now, Hinata was having his grandiose time on the couch, Bokuto was snuggled up in his room, and Miya was— 

the door opened.

— here.

“Omi-kun! I knew I’d find ya here,” Miya had a towel wrapped around his hips, and was slowly making his way towards the showers. “Let’s talk!” 

He angled the showerhead until the water ran all over his face. Maybe if he pretended Miya didn’t exist, he wouldn’t exist. Object permanence was a social construct.

“Omi-omi! Don’t just ignore me! What are ya, prickly like a sea urchin?”

He felt an incredible urge to groan, but he didn’t want to give Miya the satisfaction. “Wash yourself twice before you get into the tub,” he said instead.

He rinsed himself off thoroughly, then let himself into the tub. Sinking into the warm water, he revelled in the sensation of floating, of being engulfed in the warmth of tranquille, and still water.

He pushed his wet hair outta his eyes and reclined in the tub, relaxing. He could pass out, with how utterly tired he was right now.

Suddenly, the tranquille and still water was no longer still. Miya waded through the water, rippling the surface like a drowning toddler.

He wrinkled his nose. The idea of sharing a tub with Miya, especially in a situation where he actually had to talk to the other, was quite unpleasant.

“So, Omi-kun,” Miya sat himself down at a comfortable distance from Kiyoomi. At least he had the courtesy to do that, he supposed. “How was today? I was good, wasn’t I!”

“Like the bit where you gave him a nosebleed, or—” He didn’t even have to complete his sentence before Miya jumped up, sending undulations through the bathtub. 

Kiyoomi barely managed to block a splash of water with a closed palm. “Not that! C’mon, Omi-kun, he was flirting back, wasn’t he!”

“Yea…” he trailed off. On the surface, their interactions definitely seemed like mutual flirting, especially considering Hinata’s previous confession to him, for whatever reason. 

(Whether or not it was sane to crush on  _ Miya _ of all people wasn’t Kiyoomi’s business)

However, requited feelings or not, he was actually unsure whether or not Hinata was aware of what he was doing, because the more he thought about it, the more he was sure Hinata was just  _ being himself _ .

“He was, wasn’t he?”

Kiyoomi would normally have loved to take the chance to shatter Miya’s illusions, but he was frankly too tired to deal with a droopy Miya at this time of day. 

Whatever. The idiots will sort themselves out.

“Who the hell tries the ‘you have something on your face’ in real life?” he said instead. Miya cringed.

“Omi-kun!” Miya’s drunken haze seemed to have faded, because he seemed to be getting more flustered. He was gradually folding onto himself like a paper crane, shrinking inwards in embarrassment. “It worked, didn’t it?” he said, even as his voice shook with mortification.

“Not really.” he responded.

“Ugh! I’m just going to— I’ll just pretend that didn’t happen.” Miya recovered from his humiliation pretty quickly, Kiyoomi would give him that. He was already unfurling from the fetal position he was slowly arranging himself in. Water spilled out of the tub; he was grateful they had good drainage. “So, help me with my fourth step, Omi-kun!” 

He thrust a phone in Kiyoomi’s face, the bright screen causing him to tip backwards, away from it.

“Where the hell did you get that from?” He scrutinised the towel Miya discarded at the side of the hot tub. Did it have pockets? “Is your phone waterproof?” 

“Nope,” Miya cheerfully responded. “Danger’s part of the fun.”

He pushed the phone away from him. “Please, just tell me what the website says. Actually—” pinching the bridge of his nose, he cast his gaze on Miya. “Why do you need me anyway? Honestly, you’re basically just doing whatever you want and loosely using this website as reference.” 

“C’mon, Omi-kun, don’t sell yourself short!” That line would’ve been way more effective from anyone but Miya. “I mean, you’re way more supportive than everyone else in my life!”

Wow. That was actually the first time he’s ever heard that.

“So like, the fourth step says to get them nice things, essentially!” Miya put on a constipated expression that was probably his thinking face. “What does Shou-kun like?”

“You tell me,” he muttered. 

“I mean, he likes tosses and I give him plenty of those. He likes volleyball, but I don’t know if volleyball merch is a good idea,” Miya scrunched up his face. Kiyoomi was faintly aware that he was probably trying to act cute. It wasn’t working. Maybe Hinata would find it cute, because Hinata was not only an angel but also irrationally stupid for being attracted to Miya. “Wait! he likes food!”

They really acted like volleyball machines, with an affinity for food sometimes. To be fair, he could respect that.

“I could totally just get ‘Samu to bring me some Onigiri, and I could share it with him!” Miya looked undeservingly proud of himself. “Problem solved!”

Wait. If he thought— “Didn’t the better Miya twin already do that before?” He distinctly recalled a time when Miya — the other Miya — had showed up to their house unannounced, with a large box filled with onigiri. That was the day he had cemented his place as the  _ superior Miya _ with everyone in the house. It was a shame that Hinata hadn’t joined the team yet.

“He isn’t better!” Miya looked incredibly affronted. “I set for ya, ya know, perfect sets! I’ll be named best setter over Tobio-kun, just ya wait!”

“That’s your job, to set” he replied blandly. “We can get a new setter anytime, you know.”

That was a lie. Annoying child or not, Miya was incredible as a setter.

“Aww, don’t lie, ya’d miss me,” Miya had that infuriating grin on his face as he scooted into Kiyoomi’s personal space. Feeling petty, he mimed splashing the phone clutched in Miya’s hand. Miya squealed, backing away.

He invoked his right to remain silent. Miya’s shit-eating grin remained, until it morphed into an expression of delight, as if he had discovered something particularly important to the continued evolution of humanity. Since it was Miya, it obviously wasn’t.

“Wait, if i do that, I’ll eat two worms—” 

“I don’t think—” he tried to interject.

“—with one bird!!” Miya finished, looking inappropriately proud of himself.

“—that’s how the saying goes,” he finished, but Miya wasn’t paying attention to him anymore.

“I can beat Osamu, since Shouyou hasn’t suffered at the hands of his forged kindness,” he actually snorted. Miya would make a great comedy act just by being himself. “—and I can win Shou-kun’s affection with food! Just like the website says” 

“Do you need your brother’s help to beat him.” he said under his breath, loud enough for Miya to hear. “figures.”

“C’mon Omi-Omi!” Miya suddenly looked like he was on the edge of throwing a fit again, “It’s a good idea, right?”

As much as he wanted to disagree, he couldn’t find much reason. Knowing the two single celled organisms they were, the plan would work perfectly in both their favours. Instead of trying to argue, he opted to kick Miya out of the tub.

Miya left without much objection, leading him to believe he only really came in for the sole purpose of bothering Kiyoomi, and ruining his night more than it already has been. 

“That was fun, Omi-omi, let’s do it again sometime!” Miya said before leaving, throwing up a peace sign and a wink. He had glared until Miya hastily closed the door, and even through it, he could hear the distressed cry from the other side.

Surprisingly, the thought of Miya’s words didn’t bother him that much. He might actually be growing fond of Miya.

How disgusting, he thought to himself, as he leaned back in the tub once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope you enjoyed! rushed this amidst my pile of essays,,
> 
> as always, i love reading your comments <3 thank you for reading!


	5. step five

**step 5**

It had been approximately half a month since the series of incidents associated with their izakaya outing had passed.

The house had been suspiciously quiet since then. Miya continued his not-very-subtle attempts at wooing Hinata, and Hinata remained mostly clueless.

Their coach had given them a two week holiday, for them to take a break during the off season. He saw Miya only around once a day now, and that was mostly when he went to the kitchen to make cup ramen — and even then, Miya settled with a few ‘Omi-Omi!’s and then left him alone. Well, except for last night, but he didn’t want to think about the events of that just yet.

It was terrifying, in a way. He felt as if he were stuck in the eye of the storm, as if he were near a dormant volcano that threatened to erupt with wails of “Omi-Omi!” at any moment. He shivered a bit at the thought of that.

The peace was welcomed; yet, as much as he hated to admit it, his irritating teammates had become somewhat of a staple in his everyday life and entertainment. They had become his new ‘normal’, in a way — and he wasn’t sure who to blame. 

Miya. He could probably blame Miya. 

He rolled over in his bed, snuggling up to his blankets. Regardless of his unjustified and quite frankly foolish thoughts about  _ missing _ his teammates, there was definitely one thing he did enjoy — the increased amount of sleep — and peaceful sleep, at that — that he was getting.

Miya, and the rest of his teammates to an extent, seemed to hover by his room frequently at night. Just last night, in fact— 

_ beep! beep! _

His alarm began to ring at an annoyingly high volume. Had he left his phone next to his bed rather than charging it, at his desk? Oh well. He covered his ears with his blanket, blurring out the blaring of his alarm.

_ beep! beep! _

His alarm sounded oddly unfamiliar, but he was too groggy and wholly unready for the experience of being awake. His phone would stop ringing soon — and whenever that happened, he would allow his eyelids to droop, preparing for a second round of his needed sleep.

Then his phone began sounding again, louder this time, and he sat up in annoyance. Huffing out a sigh, he reached for where he had indeed left it, uncharged, sitting by his bedside.

The battery was at 20%, and the caller was— 

Why was Komori calling him?

Actually, that wasn’t a particularly good question. Komori did call him every now and again, usually at some unreasonable hour. He usually had no reason.

The ringing of his phone continued to reverberate throughout his room, and all of a sudden, he realised why it sounded so familiar. The last time Komori had forcibly visited him, he had set himself a custom ringtone — an annoyingly squeaky blaring sound. It hurt his ears.

The large and red ‘decline call’ button called to him. Red was a colour representing passion, representing love, and representing anger. He understood  _ anger _ in particular. He pressed it, and his phone immediately fell silent. Then, it began ringing again.

Ugh. He reluctantly accepted the incoming call.

“What.” He didn’t bother with a greeting. Komori tended to talk over it anyway.

“Kiyoomi! How are you?” Prepared for his cousin’s grating voice, he dangled his phone a good half-ruler’s length away from his ear. Even at this distance, he could hear Komori, loud and clear. “Are you doing good? Well, I’ve been…”

“Why are you calling me.” He interrupted one of Komori’s long anecdotes about a family gathering or another. He had zero patience to continue listening to a dramatic retelling of his uncle’s drunk bar-fight.

“Don’t be like that,” Komori was scarily similar to all the other annoying people in his life. This was particularly in the sense that he entirely understood the extent of suffering Kiyoomi went through — yet he still chose to ignore it every single time. His tone was teasing, and overly friendly. “How’s your team? I’m family, you know! You gotta talk to someone about your life, you know?”

“I’m fine. My teammates are fine. Did you have anything else?” Short, curt, to the point. He clapped himself on the back for his efforts.

“You didn’t mention hating them!” Komori, as always, had incredible mental dexterity; he had the ability to leap from statement to conclusion at record speeds and distances — almost faster than Miya, especially concerning  _ certain _ matters. Not quite, though. It was difficult to surpass Miya in this aspect. “From you, that’s gotta mean you guys are getting close! So, how’s your team?”

“We really aren’t.” Komori was half right, but he was never going to give him any sense of satisfaction, especially not after Komori had gone out of his way to encourage him to ‘make new friends!’. He cringed every time he thought about the mixer he had been forced to attend.

A screech from the other side of the wall brought him out of his thoughts.

“Omi-kun! Are ya awake?” His grip around his phone tightened. He almost let out an audible groan, but held it back. Komori was already laughing from the other end. “Is that Miya? He’s still calling you Omi-Omi? that’s hilarious! Can I call you that?

“No,” he responded as flatly as possible. To the intruder outside, he called out a singular word.

“Cockroach.”

Immediately, Miya started screaming, an after-effect of the night prior.

  
  
  


Despite the relatively peaceful fortnight that had passed, there had been at least one night that was a bit more… what he was used to.

Midway through his own nightmare about lying on the floor and touching the filthy, dust-ridden furniture — imagine all the  _ germs _ — he had been awoken by a loud rapping on his door, accompanied by loud declarations of Miya about how he was living in his  _ ‘worst nightmare’. _

He had slammed the door open, concerned about burglars and thieves and serial killers. Instead, it turned out that Miya had found a cockroach in their shared bathroom. For some reason or another, his first instinct was to wail outside Kiyoomi’s door. 

Unfortunately for both of them, Kiyoomi wasn’t particularly equipped with the idea of dealing with bugs either; he had no bug spray, and there was absolutely no chance in hell that he was going to battle with a bug at close quarters. Thus, he stood there watching as Miya paced back and forth, muttering under his breath.

Just when all hope had seemed to be lost, Hinata had leapt past them, sword in one hand (rolled up magazine), a shield in the other (a roll of paper towels). He had emerged from the bathroom with a victorious grin, lifting up a bloodied paper towel in triumph. “I killed it!” he had announced, proud.

Miya broke into applause, so thankful that he had jumped and wrapped Hinata into an embrace. “You saved me, Shou-kun!” 

Kiyoomi had taken that as his signal to retreat into his room. 

  
  
  


“A cockroach? Where?” Miya’s voice in the present morphed to one of panic. “Omi-kun! Help me!”

That had happened past midnight, definitely, which explained his unbearable bleariness despite it definitely not being early morning anymore. He let out a sigh.

He could hear Komori snickering on the line. As usual, he was unsympathetic to Kiyoomi’s plight. “Teammates, huh?”

Listening to multiple idiots was tiring his ears out. “I’m hanging up,” he said. As expected, Komori began protesting in earnest. 

“Wait! Kiyoomi, yo—”

_ click _

One disturbance dealt with. Now, for the other one...

“Omi-Omi! Don’t leave me trapped out here!” Miya was still throwing a tantrum, banging loudly on Kiyoomi’s wooden door. The doorframe shook with the impact. “Don’t leave me to die! Who’ll set for you then? You’ll miss me, right, Omi-Omi!”

“We’ll just get a new setter,” he replied, calm. “Maybe he’d be less of a wuss than you. There’s no cockroach, by the way.” 

“Omi-Omi! So cruel to me!” He could hear Miya’s pout in his voice. “As if you aren’t terrified of them too!”

He was, in fact, terrified of cockroaches. However, Miya didn’t need to know that.

“Why are you here?” He asked instead.

“Well, I thought it’d be fun to go out for lunch!” Miya was practically jumping up and down outside his door. He could hear the dull  _ thud _ each time he landed. Even the floorboards struggled with coping with the full extent of Miya’s enthusiasm. “Let’s go out for lunch!”

“Let me guess,” he began, “You’re trying to seduce Hinata with food, just like you said.” He swung open the door, staring down the figure outside.

Miya wilted. “What if I just wanted to spend time with my favorite Omi-Omi, huh? Yer just like a prickly sea urchin—” At his expression, Miya shrank even more, holding up his hands in a placating gesture, “Okay, okay, you were right. But— I had this great idea — Let’s go to Onigiri-Miya!”

  
  
  


Despite the fact that he had only  _ just _ rolled out of bed — at almost noon, to his silent shame, even if he could totally blame it on Miya — they headed out for ‘lunch’. 

  
  


_ “Aren’t you just showing off your brother now?”  _

_ “Shut up!” _

  
  


Hinata agreed to the outing as soon as he heard the word ‘food’, so the three of them, an odd triad, stood in front of the shut doors of Onigiri Miya.

Hinata was the first to speak. “Why’s the store closed, Atsumu-san?” 

Miya fiddled with the phone in his hand, rapidly tapping away at the keyboard. “Stupid ‘Samu,” he muttered under his breath, “He’s supposed to—”

“Welcome!” The doors slid open, revealing the significantly less annoying twin. He didn’t really know the other Miya, but there was no way anyone could match Miya in his levels of irritation. “Sakusa-kun and Hinata-kun, I presume?” Yep, definitely less annoying. No one’s properly addressed him for months now. He could’ve sunk to the floor in gratitude.

“Oh look, it’s my least favorite twin!” Miya — the more annoying one — stepped up with a confrontational stance. The other Miya stared him down, and they seemed to telepathically argue until the Miya-that Kiyoomi-saw-more-on-a-regular-basis backed down, scowling.

God, it was kind of annoying to think about both of them as Miya. Was he going to have to start thinking about the Miya’s by their first names? It had to be done, he supposed.

“Welcome to the store,” The less annoying Miya — Osamu — grinned at them. “Thanks for dealing with my useless brother.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Atsumu was getting angsty again, but a glance from Osamu froze him in place. Hinata, heedless of the conflict taking place right in front of him, skipped happily into the store.

“Wow— Miya-san, this store is so nice! And the decor, it looks so— cool!” Hinata, the beam of light he was, turned back to face Osamu. “Miya-san, this is super cool!”

Osamu smiled. “Cal’ me ‘samu,” he replied, his accent thickening as he lowered his voice, leaning slightly into Hinata. “M’brother’s got nothing on me, ey?”

Atsumu was practically smoking with anger. Osamu smugly stared back, and Atsumu stomped forward, pulling his twin away from the oblivious looking Hinata.

This was going to be interesting.

  
  
  
  


Despite the fact that only one of the two twins worked in the food industry, both of them ended up behind the counter, fighting over the rice and seaweed.

“Look at who’s the better twin!” Osamu had jeered at Atsumu, “You can only play volleyball. I can cook AND play volleyball.”

“Shut the fuck up, I can cook too!” Atsumu had said, right before trying to jump over the divider separating the customer area and the kitchen. He almost tripped over and fell flat on the floor, but he managed to grab onto his twin just in time, and the two had somehow maintained balance. Atsumu still looked slightly embarrassed from that incident, but promptly forgot it as soon as Hinata called him ‘cool’. Osamu had observed the interaction with a calculating smile.

  
  
  


“So, what can I make for you?” Osamu asked, his hands working at a ball of rice. Hinata marvelled. 

“You’re so cool, Osamu-san! Uh— Can I have an onigiri with egg in it, maybe?” 

“Anything for you, Hinata-ku— Atsumu, stop kicking me.” Osamu frowned, at his twin, who had begun sulking. “—Shouyou-kun.”

“Hm?” Hinata was only half paying attention, but Atsumu’s expression had morphed from smug to completely shocked. He looked a bit like how babies did when you hid from them in  _ peek-a-boo _ . Kiyoomi internally snickered at his creative mental imagery.

“‘samu…”

“What is it?” Osamu asked, smiling innocently. Hinata had gotten distracted by the soy sauce dispensers, and was no longer looking at either of them — which was probably a good thing, given the tension that had begun building up between them.

Kiyoomi wondered how much it would cost to dry clean blood out of his clothes, in the event of a fight. He quite liked the jacket he was wearing.

“Eggs? I can make eggs.” Atsumu scowled. The two twins turned to head to the back in sync, turned their heads to each other in annoyance, and speed walked towards the door at the exact same pace. They got stuck in the doorframe. Eventually, they reemerged with a carton of eggs.

“Ya know what crime an egg would be afraid of?” Atsumu began. Osamu sighed, then turned away. Kiyoomi wished for a world where people could be muted, the same way phones and other electronics could be. Hinata listened attentively.

“What, Atsumu-san?”

“Poaching!” Osamu audibly groaned. Kiyoomi was tempted to do the same.

Atsumu looked at the pained faces of him and Osamu. “C’mon, give me something to work with!”

Hinata, being Hinata, cheered. “That’s hilarious, Atsumu-san!” 

“Please stop.” Osamu said, a hand roughly patting Atsumu’s shoulder. It looked a bit violent. Atsumu winced in pain. “Just— make the eggs, please.”

“Okay, fine,” Atsumu scowled, then grabbed an egg with one hand. “I can crack an egg with just one hand, ya know?”

“Oooh— Really, Atsumu-san?”

The next event happened in three acts.

  1. Atsumu rolled the egg over in his hand, then passed it to his other one.



  1. He tapped it against the kitchen counter, cracking it open.



  1. Turns out, he just decided to smash the egg against the counter, leaving them with one broken egg shell, a raw egg sliding down the side of the counter, and three bewildered spectators. Atsumu’s hand was covered in raw egg white.



  
  
  
  


“Please ignore that,” Atsumu practically whimpered. His head slowly lowered until it was rested against the counter, shielding his face from view. Osamu was clutching his stomach, his shoulders heaving from laughter. Hinata didn’t seem particularly bothered. 

“It’s okay, Atsumu-san! I can’t crack an egg with one hand either!”

“Lame,” Osamu mouthed. 

Atsumu didn’t — or couldn’t respond, too busy shamefully wiping down the counter with a roll of paper towels. He sulked as Osamu began to actually make the onigiri, and after some gentle coaxing from Osamu, returned to the customer side of the counter.

“Don’t say anything about that, ever,” Atsumu said as he sat down beside Kiyoomi, apparently too distracted by the previous events to nab the open seat beside Hinata. “I—”

“Here’s your fatty tuna onigiri, twin-with-an-uglier-face-than-me~”

“Oooh, yummy!” Atsumu completely ignored what would likely have been a world-ending insult, instead reaching out to grab the plate of offered rice. Kiyoomi watched in fascination.

“Sakusa-kun, here’s a salmon one for you.” Osamu really was the nicer twin. As he accepted the plate of free food, he watched as Hinata, too, fell for the charms of food.

“For ya, Shouyou-kun, I made a half boiled egg Onigiri~” Osamu dragged out his words. The onigiri-distraction no longer worked on Atsumu, who had begun paying rapt attention. “Tell me if ya like it, won’t ya?”

“Of course, Osamu-san!” Even the more subtle twin seemed slightly moved by the intensity of Hinata’s smile, even if his face was stuffed with rice. “It’s amazing!” 

Atsumu growled.

  
  
  


They returned to the house after finishing their food. Atsumu didn’t manage to embarrass himself further than not knowing how to crack an egg, and thus the meal progressed in relative peace. At the end of their meal, Atsumu had practically dragged Hinata out by the collar. Kiyoomi followed a few steps behind, thanking Osamu for the meal.

“My pleasure,” Osamu had replied, his smile all teeth, and suddenly he was quite glad they got the Miya with a lower mental age.

“That ‘Samu— I’ll kill him!” Atsumu muttered as they walked away.

Hinata had seemed particularly puzzled, but Atsumu soon sweet-talked him with promises of tosses and volleyball practice — just the two of them, and Kiyoomi began tuning them out.

  
  
  


It was, once again, night. Despite his only social interaction having been a brief two hour stint with Hinata and Atsumu, he felt indescribably drained. He imagined the warm embrace of his covers, the feeling of lying in a  _ clean _ bed. He sighed.

Before he prepared to sleep, he took a moment to look through his unread messages. As expected, there were quite a few. 

As always, there was the onslaught of notifications that arrived on LINE whenever he hung up on Komori, and they existed in walls of text from this morning. He scrolled past those.

In addition to that, however, there were other concerns.

Since Atsumu — and the rest of the team — had gotten his number, he’d begun to check his phone less and less. They had a team group chat, and it mainly consisted of Atsumu sending unfunny memes and Meian telling him to be quiet. He didn’t check that chat very often.

Except there were new messages from Atsumu — private messages — and there was one from just twenty minutes ago, in fact.

**_22:54_ **

miya

_ omi-omi? _

**_22:54_ **

miya

_ i think,, _

**_22:55_ **

miya

_ i need help _

**_22:55_ **

miya

_ come to my room _

**_22:55_ **

miya

_ whenever ya see this _

He was tempted to ignore the messages, and just to prepare for bed. He contemplated it heavily.

It turned out that he was more stupid than expected, because he found himself five minutes later knocking on Atsumu’s door, forgoing his comfortable, peaceful sleep for a potential Miya-shitfit. He had an urge to slap himself.

It was strange, being on the other side of the door for once. The door swung open immediately after his first knock, and he was greeted by a faint looking, pale Atsumu.

“Omi-kun! My savior— I—” Atsumu’s room closely resembled a crash landing site. Clothes were strewn across the bed, the floor was covered in bags, papers and magazines, and his desk was cluttered and filled with random tidbits of stationery, cups and papers. 

The Kiyoomi a few weeks ago would’ve turned around and left. The one in the present didn’t. He kind of wished he was the Kiyoomi from a few weeks ago.

Atsumu cleared a small space on his bed, pushing away an unfolded blanket, and gestured at the now empty spot. Kiyoomi cautiously sat down; he could always take another shower later, he supposed. For now, at least Atsumu was being considerate, even if he looked like he was about to hyperventilate on the floor.

“Miya, are yo—” 

“I’m going to confess to Hinata,” Atsumu blurted out. Kiyoomi almost choked on his spit.

“Wait, what? Why all of a sudden?”

Atsumu stood up, and began pacing. “I can’t! Osamu today was the final straw!” 

“Why don’t you just complete the five steps first?” he suggested, his mind racing. Realistically, there were no universes where Hinata would reject Miya. However, watching the two of them interact was something that was incredibly amusing to observe. Was he ready to give it up?

“But! This is the last step!” Atsumu gestured at the laptop atop a pile of clothes. On the screen was the article they had found those fateful weeks prior.

_ Step 5: Let them know how you feel! _

He barely contained the snort that threatened to erupt. This website was… entertaining, to say the least.

“Ew,” he verbalised instead. Feelings were kind of gross. “So just do it then, why don—”

A knock sounded on the door, and both of them spun around, pivoting their heads. Identical expressions of confusion appeared atop their faces. 

Kiyoomi opened his mouth, ready to respond, when a hand — Atsumu’s hand — clamped down on his mouth, muffling his response. He turned to him, a question and glare mixed in one, but Atsumu looked truly panicked.

“Wait! This is so bad! I— misunderstandings!” He took a deep breath in between his whispers. “Okay, Omi-kun— I—”

“What is it?” he asked in a low voice. “Also, please get your hand off of me.”

“Atsumu-san?” Hinata’s voice sounded from the other side of the door. The rapping continued on the wood. Atsumu stiffened. “Can I— Can I talk to you?”

“Shit! Okay, there’s nothing else to do.” He had gained a fire in his eyes that Kiyoomi only usually saw on the court. “Get into my closet.” 

Time froze. Kiyoomi sat still. Atsumu was still moving — towards his closet, opening the doors, and gesturing for Kiyoomi to get in. Time had evidently not frozen. Kiyoomi couldn’t move.

“What.”

“Please! Omi-kun— You have to! I—” 

Maybe he was too confused to really object. He was definitely too confused to object, because he allowed himself to be guided into the closet.

“Miya—” he tried to call out in a low voice, but he was once again shushed by Atsumu. “Omi-kun! Please— just— stay put.”

“You better explain this later,” he hissed, before reclining in the soft pile of clothes. Miya handed him his phone with the flashlight on, then shut the closet doors.

“Atsumu-san? What’s going on? Are you here?” Hinata’s worried voice sounded from the other side of the door once again. “Hello?”

Atsumu cursed, then took a deep breath. The breath was quite loud; Kiyoomi could hear it. 

“I’m here, Shou-kun.”

The door hinges squeaked as it swung open. Atsumu took another audible deep breath.

“Hey, Shou-kun. I— Let’s talk, shall we?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ekjrhg i have so much work but instead of writing essays i just write atsuhina 
> 
> this is lowkey rushed but,,, hope it's adequate
> 
> i promise the next -- and final chapter will come out within like 1/2 weeks! 
> 
> i really hope you've enjoyed the story so far! as usual, comments make me feel happy feelings. thanks for reading!


	6. step-by-step plans are for losers, after all

Atsumu was not okay.

Shouyou, all a-hundred-and-seventy-two-point-two centimeters of him (he checked on their official website earlier— not that he regularly checked Shouyou’s stats or anything!) stood at his door, peering up at him with those round, glimmering brown (hazel?) eyes. Atsumu wanted to spontaneously combust.

He’d never been a poet — in fact, he failed Japanese literature in highschool — but under the harsh hallway lights, he could’ve gone on and on about the irresistible allure of those bewitching eyes. 

He could also imagine Omi-Omi sighing at him from the closet; he probably expected Atsumu to embarrass himself, but that would not happen! Today was the day when he’d surpass his own, and everyone else’s expectations.

Ah, right, Shouyou was still standing there. 

Because he was smooth and knew basic etiquette, unlike what  _ some _ people thought of him, he invited Shouyou-kun in with a few polite phrases. Mentally, he imagined patting himself on the back.

“‘Scuse me for the intrusion,” Shouyou, being his angelic self, politely bowed, before making his way into Atsumu’s room. 

While Atsumu would definitely have preferred Shouyou’s first exposure to his room to be a more tidy version of it — both of them had to strategically navigate around the piles of magazines, books and loose-leaf papers lying all over the room — but it couldn’t be helped. After all, room cleanliness isn’t something he can control — shut up, Omi-Omi.

“Sorry for it being messy—” 

“It’s alright,” Shouyou responded, and although his voice was as seraphic as ever, Atsumu couldn’t help noticing the slight bit of tension in his face. Was it awkward? What was happening? Was this an adequate time to spontaneously combust?

“So,” He began, and he suddenly became quite aware that it was, the  _ teensiest bit _ awkward. “What brings ya here, Shouyou-kun?”

Shouyou fidgeted with his hands — was he nervous? Atsumu certainly was, having been blessed with such a divine presence in his humble room today. “I’ve just been thinking.”

“Hm?” 

“Because of Osamu-san today—”

“Eh!” He involuntarily let out a noise of discontent, which caused Shouyou to pause. “Wait no, go on.” 

Why the hell was Shouyou talking about that damned ‘Samu? He thought back to the events that had happened only hours prior. Had Osamu’s offer of lifetime Onigiri been too tempting? He couldn’t blame him, but he would  _ definitely _ beat his twin’s ass to the ground…

He tried to visualise the image in his head. Osamu, the bastard who had the same devilishly-handsome face as him yet for  _ some reason _ or another kept insisting he was more attractive. Osamu, the bastard who had an entire secret operation that involved smuggling egg pudding away from him. Osamu, that fucking bastard, with an arm slung around Shouyou’s shoulder. 

‘’Samu-san’s just cooler,’ Imaginary-Shouyou would say in his head. He felt a sudden urge to bang his head against the closet door, and also maybe to rip the door from its hinges and chuck it at ‘Samu. Then, he’d get arrested, and his volleyball career would end, and… 

“And he told me, well… something.” Real-Shouyou reprieved him from his self-imposed torture and prison sentence. He nodded in response, taking care to keep his face level. He would not crumble. He grabbed a nearby water bottle and gulped down half of its contents.

“Mhm.” After twenty-three years of being alive, he had learnt that generic affirmative sounds were a great one-size-fits-all conversation tool. It was extra effective in pretending he wasn’t about to burst from anger or jealousy or both.

In the case of Osamu trying to take Shouyou, he had a plan; he had plentiful blackmail on Osamu, if needed to get to that point. For example, Osamu cried every time they watched Dragon Ball Z together. He wasn’t sure if that was amazing blackmail material, but it was something.

“Well, he told me something…” 

Well, if his blackmail were to be inadequate, physical threats would most definitely work, right? He had six years of extra volleyball experience compared to Osamu, and that would definitely suffice in a one-on-one fight. Well, physical conflict it was.

“... and well, do you?”

“Mhm,” he responded instinctively, still lost in his thoughts. Generic affirmative sounds were also great for when you zone out and had no idea what the other person was saying - except Shouyou went quiet, and suddenly averted his gaze. He looked— hurt? Disappointed? Why— “Wait, what were you saying?”

“So you do like Omi-san after all.”

He choked on his own spit. “Wait— What? No way— I—” In his distraction, he almost knocked over the bottle on the table. “Wait! That’s totally a misunderstanding!”

But Shouyou wasn’t listening anymore. His eyes were downcast, and he had already begun turning away from Atsumu. “I— I understand now—” 

The closet made a sound that suspiciously sounded like someone choke-laughing. Shouyou turned to it, then Atsumu with an expression of confusion.

“What was that?”

Still spluttering, he couldn’t string together a coherent response. “Wha— Wa—” 

Unfortunately, Shouyou didn’t seem to understand his incoherent gurgling noises, because he began to slowly step towards the closet.

“Wait! No! Don’t!” He forced out, still coughing. Shouyou ignored him, looking inquisitively at the closet. “That— I—” 

Was this how it felt, seconds before your demise? Still frames of his life flashed before him: a scene of the first time he played volleyball, the first game he lost, the moment when fucking ‘Samu stole his egg pudding...

He watched Shouyou open the closet in slow motion.

“AHHHHHH—” 

Shouyou slammed the closet shut. His face had gone pale, and he turned to Atsumu with a horrified expression. “There’s a ghost! It had—” 

The closet door reopened on its own, and Shouyou resumed his previous screaming — until the figure emerging became visible.

“Hinata.” Sakusa greeted, his expression neutral, yet terrifying.

“Omi-san?”

“So—” Sakusa began, his voice devoid of emotion. Atsumu was terrified. Shouyou was frozen, his arms held tightly at his sides as he slowly retreated backwards, away from Sakusa “—that really was a misunderstanding waiting to happen.”

“I— wha—” Shouyou seemed lost for words. His arms waved about, aimless. “But— Atsumu-san— Omi-san—” 

“I’ll leave you two to sort it out.” Sakusa maintained his neutral expression. He turned to Shouyou “Thanks for letting me out. It was getting kind of stuffy.”

Atsumu had had enough. This was it, for— 

“Wait! Omi-kun, are you listening?”

— 

Sakusa Kiyoomi was a good person. This was not an unfounded belief; there was a large amount of evidence he could cite for it.

In particular, he recalled a time when Komori had forgotten to zip up his fly in middle school. With a choice between allowing the rest of the class to see and warning his cousin, he had chosen the moral high ground and warned Komori. Truly, it was an act of selflessness and goodwill.

In college, he had learnt that people are often sensitive about their breakups, meaning criticizing their hygiene when they had just gotten dumped was a bad idea. While he did make a teammate cry, he had remedied the situation by purchasing a pack of sanitizing wipes and a small set of cleaning supplies, which were definitely an adequate apology, right?

He also regularly demonstrated what  _ had _ to be a saintly amount of patience, despite rooming at what often felt like a boarding school for primary school-aged children. He cleaned up after himself, took out the trash, and mostly refrained from being a too-blunt-asshole. And that  _ should’ve _ been good enough for whatever deity was up there.

Except apparently it wasn't, because his day began with the accursed Miya Atsumu banging repeatedly on his poor, wooden door. Again. Uninvited. 

After ten full minutes of trying to ignore the repeated thumps on said door, they ended up here — Kiyoomi, on the verge of committing first degree murder, and Atsumu, having begun a rather colourful retelling of his life experiences.

Sometimes, he suspected that Atsumu was part of an effective advertising campaign encouraging him to subscribe to online meditation sessions. God knew he’d need it, after this ordeal.

“Omi-omi!” As usual, Atsumu’s tone of voice strongly resembled the vocal cadence of a primary schooler crying for attention. “I’m tryna tell ya what happened! And yer not—”

“What do you think?” Kiyoomi utilised his impeccable self control to prevent his anger from becoming overly evident. The self control probably wasn’t enough, because Atsumu flinched at his voice. He attempted to lower it. “You barged into my room, at—” he took a glance at the clock, “Three-thirty in the morning—” 

“That’s not even that early!” Atsumu protested lamely. “Also! I couldn’t sleep!”

“So?” It was an improvement, Kiyoomi supposed, that Atsumu had actually responded to his accusation rather than opting to  _ not _ hear his complaints, as he usually did with his incredible skill of selective hearing. However, it did not alter the fact that he had gotten about two and a half hours of shut-eye before being awoken. Again. “So you come to grant me the gift of insomnia too?”

“But I’m too excited!” Atsumu was practically vibrating with energy. “I tried to calm myself down by making food, but I burnt the bread in the toaster—”

“How.”

“—So now I’m here!” Atsumu practically shouted. Kiyoomi covered his ears, and glowered. 

Atsumu shrivelled. “Okay! M’sorry… but don’t you at least want to hear what happened?”

“Your wonderful recounting abilities have only gotten five minutes through the ordeal.” 

“Shuddup, Omi-omi! Wait—” Atsumu began his response with a pout, but suddenly brightened up. “Ya— So ya wanna hear what happens, right?”

“Huh?”

“So you want to hear more!” As usual, Atsumu’s incredible leaps of logic were a feat to witness. “Don’t worry, Omi-omi— I’m so happy!”

Kiyoomi sighed. Atsumu’s smile didn’t fade in the least. “Whatever. I’m awake anyway— just— get on with it.”

“If yer so eager for it~” Atsumu said, his voice high and tone melodic. His ego had probably inflated enough to fill half of Kiyoomi’s room and most of the doorway. 

“I’ll punch you.” 

“No you won’t!” Atsumu replied, a cocky smile on his face.

“Try me.” Kiyoomi might not have meant his statement initially, but he certainly did now. Judging by Atsumu’s quick change of expression, he caught on to said change.

“—Ah, let’s not— wait, where was I? Right— ya were leaving the room and— Well— After that happened, I told him we were just friends. And then it was all done and over with!” Atsumu finished with a grandiose gesture, throwing up his arms.

Kiyoomi blinked. Once, then twice. “And?”

“Hm? What do you mean? There was nothing more!” Atsumu tensed. His hands grasped at the door frame; if by nothing more than his reaction, it was evident that something had happened. “No! What? Why would ya think so?”

At university, he remembered taking a course on human psychology, particularly interrogation techniques. While he had barely passed that semester, he did remember one useful technique: letting the suspect do the talking. Thus, he stayed silent.

“No! Really! There was nothing!” Atsumu’s denials increased in volume and frequency. “Wait, why are you looking at me like that! I’m not lying!”

Kiyoomi shut his mouth and waited. 

“Okay fine I lied— How did ya know—” Atsumu broke relatively quickly, collapsing against the doorway once more. “I— He—”

“Uh…” Kiyoomi wasn’t quite sure what to say.

“He found the paper!”

“Hm?” He wracked his mind. Paper? Did Atsumu keep something embarrassing on a piece of paper?

Atsumu was gradually turning redder, and he began to slowly slump against the doorframe. “Y’know—”

Kiyoomi thought harder. Piece of paper — what do people write on pieces of paper? 

_ I even wrote it down on paper, just for ya! _

Atsumu let out a wail, sliding down against the wall.

“Wait— No way!”

“Shut up!” Atsumu groaned. Having fully sank onto the floor, he laid down and mimed slamming his head against the wall.“How’d ya know, anyway? I was tryna hide it!”

“You suck at lying,” Kiyoomi responded plainly. Atsumu slammed his head against the wooden doorframe,  _ hard _ . He rubbed at his head, letting out another wail. “Wait, just to clarify. You mean— like your horrific  _ ‘5-step plan to make Shouyou-kun—’”  _

“Shuddup, Omi-kun! Don’t make fun of me!” Atsumu curled up into a fetal position on the ground, and he slowly began rocking back and forth, like a famished baby. Or one in pain. Just any sort of tortured infant, Kiyoomi supposed. “He found it! Can you believe it?”

“Yes, I can.” Kiyoomi almost snorted. He remembered the state of Atsumu’s room — or at least the parts that hadn’t been repressed by his disgust filter. He could definitely believe it. “Do you want to describe it? Your descriptive recounts would work right now.”

“I wish I tidied my room more often,” Atsumu whimpered. “It was just lying right on the table— and then he picked it up— and then he just—”

Kiyoomi let it slip then, an exhale that might’ve been a snort of laughter. Luckily for him, Atsumu was too consumed in his own embarrassment to notice.

“It was terrible,” he sniffled, “It even had his name written on it, right at the very top, so he knew  _ exactly _ what it was.” 

Kiyoomi clutched his stomach. Deep breaths. He could make it through this. 

All of his suffering in the past two weeks had been worth it. Even now, his oncoming headache from sleep deprivation would be worth it — maybe because of the absurdity of the situation, or because he was practically running on fumes at this point — but he didn’t think he’d ever found something this funny in his twenty-three years of life.

Atsumu had taken the brief intermission to push himself back into an upright sitting position, leaning against the wall. His face still looked half-dead, and he swore he could see wisps of Atsumu’s soul escaping from his half open mouth.

“I’m not embarrassed,” he declared, while obviously being incredibly embarrassed. “It was totally cool! It wasn’t lame at all.” 

“Mhm.”

“Okay!! So what if it was lame? Actually—” Atsumu perked up once more, showing his incredible ability at transitioning between moods. “—Shou-kun kinda got shocked, but he didn’t flat out reject me, so it was a victory!”

Kiyoomi opened his mouth, paused, then closed it. “Wait. You mean—”

“Hm?”

“So after all that—” Kiyoomi was truly impressed by the idiot in front of him. “Like you didn’t— you know— confess? Talk it out?” 

“Wait.” Atsumu held up a hand. “Give me a moment.”

Kiyoomi obliged. He didn’t have to wait long.

“I— I didn’t? Confess?” Atsumu spoke with all the certainty of a toddler learning the concept of numbers. If Kiyoomi knew how to snicker, he would’ve.

“How the hell did you even mess this up?” Kiyoomi wasn’t sure if he was feeling exasperation or large amounts of amusement. Probably a mixture of both, honestly. “Didn’t you go into it trying to confess?”

Atsumu deflated. “I forgot!”

“You  _ forgot _ ?”

“Omi-Omi, you have to help me fix this!”Atsumu looked to be a few seconds away from throwing a fit. “What do I do?”

“Well, I’d suggest communication but—” 

He cut himself off at the growing sound of footsteps — and the sudden emergence of a voice.

“Omi-san! What are you doing, at this hour?”

Atsumu looked as if he wanted to sink into the ground once more — which he proceeded to do.

Kiyoomi didn’t need to turn his head to guess who had just rounded the corner.

“Hinata,” He greeted, polite. “What are you doing at this time?”

“I was just… I couldn’t sleep,” Hinata said, rubbing at his eyes, before catching sight of Atsumu on the ground. “Ah— Atsumu-san.”

“Shou— Shouyou-kun? What are you— uh,” Atsumu paused, stuttered, and cut himself off. “I— uh…” 

Atsumu quickly stood up, and then they stared at each other, matching flushed faces, both with slightly agape mouths.

He supposed this was more entertaining than embarrassing. For him. Not for the two of them — even though they seemed to have completely forgotten his existence. He took a step backwards, receding into the dark of his unlit room.

The two idiots stood in front of his door, frozen. 

“I—”

“You—”

They both stopped, their blushes darkening twofold.

“No, you go first,” Atsumu stuttered, then immediately clapped a hand over his mouth. 

“Atsumu-san, you know, I— I really like you!” Hinata stammered out, his hands waving about. “And the paper— It’s not embarrassing! It was cute! And super interesting! And funny!”

Hinata’s range of vocabulary evidently didn’t differ much from Atsumu’s. 

“And— maybe— I’m—” 

As cute as it was, Hinata’s words invoked heavy feelings of second-hand embarrassment; it was incredibly embarrassing to witness after all. Atsumu seemed to be much the same, though his evident embarrassment could’ve been attributed to a variety of different sources.

Hinata stopped speaking, burying his face in his hands. Luckily, Atsumu stepped up.

“I— I like ya too, Shou-kun— I—” Atsumu looked as though he was overheating — he was sweating an incredible amount in an air conditioned, enclosed indoor space — but Kiyoomi couldn’t help but be slightly proud of him. Wait, what? Ew. 

Should he close the door? It felt like he was intruding on something incredibly intimate. Well, at least he didn’t have to watch this from a closet, like he was almost destined to.

“Well— I didn’t say this properly— but—” Atsumu seemed to have regained some of his confidence, speaking louder now. “Do— Do you wanna go out with me? Like, as— you know? Kind of thing—”

“Yes!” Hinata shed his embarrassment too, closing the distance between them. “I’d love to! Atsumu-san! You’re the best!”

“No, you’re the best! Your spikes, and the way you…” Atsumu began, clutching Hinata’s hands.

“But Atsumu-san’s sets are the best! They’re better than Kageyama’s!” Hinata returned, a smile bomb in his beam. Atsumu looked to be on the verge of getting a nosebleed. 

“But Shouyou-kun is…” 

Good news: What probably would’ve been an unending round of the two lovestruck idiots complimenting each other was cut short.

Bad news:

“What’s the big commotion?” He looked up, only to see a blur of white and black hair.

Atsumu let go of Hinata’s hands and collapsed to the ground once more, the third time in the past hour. “Bokkun! Ya gave me a heart attack! Don’t— give me a moment to process this—”

“Bokuto-san!” Hinata bounded over, “There’s good news!”

“Hmm? Let me hear it!” Bokuto replied with his indoor voice — which meant Kiyoomi suffered slight hearing loss.

“Atsumu-san and I are you you and Akaashi now!” Hinata exclaimed, excitedly jumping up and down. “Can you believe it?”

Bokuto cocked his head to one side. “Me and Akaashi? Hm?”

“We’re— Da— Da— together!” Hinata declared, bouncing up and down, excitedly grabbing at Bokuto. “I’m so happy!”

“Congratulations!” Bokuto shouted in response. At this point, Kiyoomi was beginning to get worried about the rest of their team. They wouldn’t file noise complaints, right? 

“Thanks!” Hinata shouted in response, even louder. Kiyoomi wondered if it was time to use those earplugs he had invested in.

“Tsumu-Tsumu looks happy too,” Bokuto commented. Turning around, Kiyoomi saw Atsumu still on the ground, clutching pathetically at the wall.

“Please— an intermission—” 

“But Akaashi and I? We aren’t like that!” Bokuto continued, matter-of-factly, ignorant to the stunned expressions that had happened upon all three of his audience.

“Hah?”

He, Atsumu and Hinata questioned in chorus. Bokuto stared back at them, confused.

“What? Me and Akaashi? We’re just friends!” All three of them looked at him in disbelief, but before they could push it, the threat of a terrifying aura rounded the corner.

By the time they noticed, it was too late; Meian-san had appeared.

“What is this…” Their captain asked, all smiles, which somehow made him more terrifying. “I heard a commotion from a floor below…” 

“Eek!” Bokuto and Hinata scampered off, sprinting towards the stairs.

“Ah, youth.” Meian sighed, a hint of laughter in his words. “You guys are lucky it’s the off-season right now. Get some sleep, won’t you?”

“Of course,” he responded, polite. He nudged (kicked) Atsumu with his foot: “I’ll make sure he goes soon, to.”

  
  
  
  


“Hey, Omi-omi—” Atsumu said, sitting up as their captain’s silhouette disappeared from view. “Aren’tcha glad I asked you to help me with this?” 

“Not really,” he responded, because ‘glad’ was a relative term, and it hadn’t been clearly defined. And he didn’t like the answer that his mind provided.

“Liar! Well, I know Omi-kun doesn’t hate us, anyway.” Atsumu grinned, a smug smile resurfacing. “Anyway, you’re basically a professional love guru now!”

He stared at Atsumu, mustering up the most disgusted expression he could manage.

“Well— regardless,” Atsumu ignored his glare - had he become immune? That would be terrible. “Isn’t Bokkun a bit… dense?”

“Bokuto is only as dense as you,” he responded. Atsumu let out a squeak of protest, which he ignored.

“Well, at least my troubles are over...”

“Not with how clueless you are, they aren’t,” he muttered to himself. Atsumu utilised his selective hearing and ignored his interjection.

“Why don’t ya help out Bokkun, somehow?” 

He turned and stared at Atsumu, disgusted. 

“No, seriously! You helped me out so much—”

“You two are legitimately the biggest idiots I’ve ever—” He certainly did not help very much. But whatever Atsumu wanted to believe, right?

“Help him out!” Atsumu suggested, his tone turning childish like it did in the middle of matches. “It’ll be fun, won’t it?”

He hated it when Atsumu was stupid, but he also hated it when he was so stupid that it began to sorta make sense. Kiyoomi rubbed his forehead, and groaned.

“I’ll think about it.”

Atsumu jumped up in joy. “I’ll come to you tomorrow for the plans, Omi-kun!” He said as he departed, an ecstatic expression atop his face. 

What had he gotten himself caught up in? He glanced at the clock again — way past three am — and sighed to himself. A content smile rose up instinctively - which he squashed down, forcing his face back into a neutral expression.

He tucked himself into bed once more. He had a headache, and he would almost definitely have a headache in the morning. Tomorrow, Atsumu would probably show up at his door at an ungodly hour once more, and he’d have to wake up and concoct ridiculous plans involving his teammates' love lives. He’d have to go out with them to more meals, more outings, and he’d have to resist the urge to strangle them multiple times a day.

Well.

He supposed it wasn’t the worst.

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm,, so sorry for how long this took. ahh.. it took me ages to decide how i wanted to navigate this chapter,,
> 
> by the way i've ended this, i'm thinking of writing some sort of continuation,,, a bokuaka one w side atsuhina, ofc,, so stay tuned for that!! (might take a while tho)
> 
> anways, thanks for making it all the way to the end!! this was an entire journey for me, so thank you for sticking with it. as always, i love reading all of your supportive comments <3 
> 
> until next time!

**Author's Note:**

> kudos and comments make my soul bleed (in a good way)!
> 
> thanks for reading all the way here, and hope you enjoyed!


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